


Guilty as Charged

by lovetheblazer



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: At least through Season 2, Canon Compliant, Concussions, CrissColfer Big Bang, Dublin Kiss, Glee BTS, Glee Live! In Concert!, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, crisscolfer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: Darren could never have expected what he would get when he first signed on for a guest role on Glee. With it, he was introduced to the best friend he’s ever had, along with a wild summer on tour with the cast, filled with heady performances, a whirlwind of cities and rapt audiences, and an escalating series of bets, all of it seemingly building towards … something. But after a night spent together on a Dublin balcony, Chris pulls a disappearing act, and Darren’s left alone to try to pick up the pieces. When Darren shows up for the first day of filming for Season 3 of Glee, he finds that everything’s changed yet again and not necessarily for the better. But thanks to a freak accident on set that involves Chris, Darren might get a second chance to make things right, this time for good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Guilty as Charged Photoset](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/233972) by kobean. 



> This was written for the 2016 CrissColfer Big Bang. Many thanks to controlofwhatido, our fearless leader, for taking on the herculean challenge of organizing and moderating the CCBB, and rolling with all the last minute schedule changes we threw her way. I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to ticklishblaine, kobean, and alittledizzy, my faithful beta, artist, and word war partner respectively - quite simply, this fic wouldn’t exist without each of your consistent patience, inspiration, and gentle encouragement. If you haven't already, drop what you are doing to go check out [the amazing photoset](http://kobean.tumblr.com/post/151718306352/guilty-as-charged-by-lovetheblazer-darren-could) that accompanies this fic, created by kobean who I was so honored to collaborate with on this fic.

_ “Tonight, I’m totally going to crack him.” _

Darren’s finger hovers over the tweet button for a full minute, just rereading what he’s written to himself and trying to summon the requisite courage to send it out into the ether. The words sound like him, or at least sound like the face he shows to the general public: playful, cocky, and carefree. 

There’s a lot he doesn’t show the public, though. There’s a lot he doesn’t show anyone, really. 

Then Chris came along and shook up everything Darren thought he knew about himself. 

Things are different now; and it all began the day he showed up on set for the biggest job he’d booked to date and run smack dab into a baby-faced boy with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen in his life. 

* * *

Darren’s a stammering, blushing mess his first day on set, up half of the previous night with his heart racing so fast he idly wondered if he was having a heart attack and a nervous stomach that meant he spent more time in the bathroom than his bed. To make matters worse, when he finally fell into a fitful sleep just before dawn, he was plagued with nightmares of his worst fears played on a loop: all of the cast members deciding to hate him for some reason, blanking out on his lines and causing production delays, or worst of all, being exposed as an acting fraud and Ryan deciding to fire him on the spot.

Needless to say, the four hours of sleep he managed that night were far from restful and before Darren even makes it to the hair and makeup trailer, he’s adding another irrational fear to his list: the producers taking one look at the massive dark circles under his eyes and deciding he looked way too old to convincingly play a high school student.

He’s so wrapped up in the myriad ways things can go wrong for him that he quite  _ literally _ runs into the costar he’s meant to be serenading later in the episode.

Chris Colfer has come to represent everything that Darren isn’t in his mind. He’s tall and lanky where Darren is short, compact but well-muscled. He’s got impossibly pale porcelain skin with a smattering of freckles, where Darren has an olive complexion to match his Filipino mother’s side of the family tree. Moving beyond the physical, Chris’s unusually high vocal range is effortless and haunting, making the audience feel every bit of his emotion with the timbre of his voice. Darren knows his voice is passable, but it’s still probably a dime a dozen, interchangeable with any number of coffee house singers on open mic night. He sticks to singing what he knows, which is mostly acoustic covers of Disney or pop songs, with a random Broadway favorite thrown in for good measure. Darren’s formula has usually worked for coming up with enough cash to cover beer money in college, but he doubts he’ll ever be talented enough move anyone to tears with the power of his voice alone. 

Probably the biggest difference between himself and Chris is in their acting abilities, though. Chris has been one of the breakout stars of the first season of Glee where he plays his character, Kurt, in a three-dimensional way that goes well beyond the facile stereotypes of what a gay teen should be. Darren, on the other hand, made his Glee audition video on a lark, encouraged by family and friends, not to mention fans of the cult musical he’d dropped on YouTube without a second’s thought to being noticed or it being his “big break.” Weirdly, it opened some pretty good doors for him, doors that led to an agent, some big auditions, and even a recurring guest role in a TV show that was swiftly canceled. 

Being the fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy that he is, Darren didn’t even bother watching full episodes of Glee until he made it through several rounds of auditions and callbacks and was asked to come in and audition directly for the network. But once he started watching the show, he couldn’t  _ stop _ . Chris’s acting was a big part of the reason why he binged the series in a matter of days. When Kurt came out to his father in an early episode, Darren was genuinely moved to tears. That’s the epitome of true talent, and Darren’s pretty damn sure he doesn’t have that same gift in him. 

To say Darren is insecure about how he’ll measure up to Chris is an understatement. So naturally, that’s the only cast regular that Darren is scheduled to film scenes with for the foreseeable future. The anxiety Darren feels as he reads through the script that is delivered by courier directly to his doorstep is so palpable it’s like a living organism of its very own making. But if he’s so terrified to work with Chris, why does he also feel so exhilarated at the prospect? 

“Oh shit,  _ fuck _ , I didn’t mean to run you over,” Darren babbles in apology, cheeks flaming. 

Chris smiles graciously. “No worries, I was just coming to find you anyways. You saved me a trip to your trailer.”

Darren appreciates how magnanimous Chris is being about the whole almost mowing him down thing, but he still wishes that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He tries to regain whatever composure he had to begin with (which is not saying much) and extends his hand to shake. “Hi, I’m...”

“...Darren Criss,” Chris finishes for him before he has the chance. “I know. Big fan.”

“Ha, very funny,” Darren manages, blush deepening. “I’m a nobody, and I’m pretty sure you’re stealing my line.”

“Excuse you, I’d never kid about anything as a serious as Harry Potter,” Chris scoffs cryptically.

The puzzled look on Darren’s face must be pretty transparent, because Chris clarifies almost immediately, “or technically Harry Potter parodies, but close enough.”

Darren’s jaw drops, wondering if Chris is actually implying he’s heard of  _ A Very Potter Musical _ and knows it’s associated with Darren, or if Darren is just narcissistic enough to believe random famous strangers have seen his ridiculous college musical. He’s not sure how to clear up the confusion without sounding really, really full of himself until it occurs to him that Chris has probably been given Darren’s resume by a publicist in preparation for working together. “Oh, so someone Googled me for you? That’s cool, man, but you don’t have to pretend you have any clue-”

Chris cuts him off before he can finish the sentence. “No one had to Google you for me. I may be a semi-Luddite, but even I know my way around a search engine. But more to the point, I’d seen your musical well before I even booked  _ Glee _ , and I wasn’t exactly employing a personal assistant and publicist as a teenager that still lived with my parents.”

Darren’s mouth hangs open even further, totally agape. The teasing, familiar way Chris is already speaking to him is a total turn on, especially combined with the way Chris is casually throwing out big words like Luddite. It’s such a fantasy come to life that Darren wonders for a second if perhaps he’s still dreaming, though even his dreams don’t usually provide this much wish fulfillment. “Would I be a total dick if I said I still didn’t quite believe you’ve seen my musical, especially that you’d seen it pre- _ Glee _ ?”

Chris gasps in mock horror. “Why Darren, are you accusing your brand new coworker of lying on your first day? Even with a face this innocent?” Chris continues, gesturing towards himself. 

Darren laughs but still figures hedging his bets is probably the best call. “...maybe?” he replies, shrugging casually. 

“Well, that’s just unforgivable,” Chris tsks. “You’ll learn that you should never question me, because I’m very wise. I also know all the secrets of the set that you’ll want to know if you decide to stick around with us ragtag bunch of misfits.”

“Oh yeah?” Darren grins. “Like what?”

Chris winks playfully. “That’s information you’d have to  _ earn _ .” There’s just enough edge added to the word earn to make Darren practically shiver at the implications and wow, if this is a dream, it’s one he  _ really _ doesn’t want to wake up from.

Something about Chris puts Darren instantly at ease and makes him want to earn it, though. He doesn’t even care that much about the inside intel, he just wants to spend more time with Chris. That thought sparks something in his mind. “So uh, how do you feel about musical theater? Broadway legends? That kind of stuff?”

“Hate it,” Chris whispers conspiratorially. “All of it. That’s why I work here.”

Darren chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. Guess that was a dumb question. I’m sure there will be plenty more where that came from.”

“Promises, promises,” Chris teases, quirking up one eyebrow. “Do you usually make good on your promises, Darren?”

“When it comes to me being an idiot? Yes, always. That’s one guarantee I feel pretty confident I’ll deliver on,” Darren chuckles. 

Chris seems delighted with that answer. Darren’s not entirely sure what he’s doing right, besides maybe just amusing Chris with his sheer boldness and idiocy, but he’ll take it. “I think you were saying something about Broadway legends before, though?” Chris prompts after a moment of companionable silence.

“Oh, right!” Darren says, feeling the nerves start to creep back up again. “So um, I happen to have two tickets to this thing tonight, like a Broadway revue or concert or... whatever you want to call it. I’m going, but my friend bailed last minute and I’d obviously prefer not to go alone, but I guess I kind of thought of you and whether or not you might--”

“Darren!” Chris waves his hands in front of Darren’s face to interrupt his rambling train of thought. “Breathe, honey. Who’s the person performing at the concert?”

Darren can feel the blush spreading from his cheeks to creep down his face and neck. “Uh... Sutton Foster?”

“Oh!” Chris looks excited, “I  _ love _ her.”

“You do?” Darren is beyond relieved, but Chris still hasn’t said yes yet so he tries to keep it together.

“So, you want me to come with you?” Chris confirms, his face unreadable. “Like as a...?”

Chris never finishes the sentence, but Darren sees his mouth automatically start to shape the word  _ date _ before he goes suddenly silent. It’s more than he’d ever dared to hope for and he’s not naive enough to hope for it now either, but it’s still a strangely reassuring thought. 

When the silence starts to get a little awkward, Darren decides to step in. “As a bonding exercise, really...”

“A... bonding exercise?” Chris furrows his brow a little, perplexed. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, we’re going to being filming at least a couple of episodes together, and I want us to get along and have chemistry on screen. So, I just thought it might be nice if we got to know each other a bit better,” Darren rambles, trying to explain. “Plus, as you so helpfully pointed out, I could definitely use someone to show me the ropes.”

Chris nods. “Yup, that much is clear.”

“Is my flop sweat really that obvious?” Darren wonders aloud, only half kidding.

Chris shrugs. “To me it is. I mean, I can tell how nervous you are...”

Darren internally winces. He’d been hoping to play it cool as ridiculous as that seems now. “How?”

“I just can. I’ve got anxiety too, so I guess I know the signs?” Chris explains. That one comes as a shock to Darren at first, but he realizes belatedly that he’s only had the opportunity to see Chris’s public face thus far. It’s probably pretty easy to hide that kind of shit behind bodyguards and publicists, he supposes. 

“Well, guilty as charged,” Darren admits. “And about the show tonight, if you’re too busy or just don’t want to come, I totally understand. I won’t collapse into a pool of tears or anything,” Darren promises, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

“How could I ever deny Harry Freaking Potter?” Chris finally concedes jokingly with a wide grin on his face.

Darren can’t help but break off into a fit of helpless laughter at that.  _ How is this his life right now? _

Chris, however, almost immediately wrinkles his nose. “Oh god, I can’t believe I actually said that out loud. We must never speak of this moment again.”

“Spoilsport,” Darren pretend pouts.

“How about I make it up to you by showing you one of your first secrets of the set?”

Darren smiles. “Is it a good one?”

Chris grins right back. “It’s one I didn’t know on my first day, so... yeah, I’d say so.”

It turns out that the first secret is that Darren has a trailer. Embarrassingly enough, this is news to him. Unfortunately, he has to share it with a dozen boys known as the Warblers, so it’s not really the quiet place for napping and rehearsing lines he’d envisioned. 

It could be worse, though, because Chris is nice enough to share his trailer with Darren. They don’t get anything done besides having long talks and making each other laugh, but very quickly, it begins to feel like home.

* * *

“You know, you’re different than I thought you’d be,” Chris remarks idly one rainy afternoon. Darren’s sprawled out on Chris’s couch, head in Chris’s lap, humming to himself as he jots down lyrics to a song he’s been working on for the next Starkid musical. Chris is balancing his laptop on the arm of the couch, alternatively working on his screenplay and playing with Darren’s hair while he thinks.

Darren pretends to be offended. “I’ll have you know the camera adds five pounds, Chris,” he gasps in mock horror.

“Does it also subtract four inches in height?” Chris snarks right back, fighting fire with fire. “And you know that’s not what I meant, idiot.”

Darren tilts his head back so he can look up at him. Chris’s hair is a mess and he’s wearing his glasses; neither of those things should be nearly as attractive to Darren as they are. It’s...  _ distracting _ . “What did you mean, then? Different how?”

“You’re quieter, for one,” Chris begins.

Darren snorts. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever accused me of being quiet.”

“I believe I said  _ quieter _ , not quiet. Big difference,” Chris clarifies. “But like, in those Starkid videos, even the behind the scenes ones, you always seemed so sure of yourself. Cocky, even. The life of the party.”

“I think there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

Chris tips his head down to make eye contact with Darren, stroking a hand through his curls as if in apology. “Actually, I was  _ trying _ to compliment you. I like that you can just relax and be calm with me, that you don’t have to put on a big song and dance like you do at our group lunches and stuff.”

“I’ll have you know that I only danced one time, Christopher. Just  _ once _ . I didn’t even bring my tap shoes for the routine,” Darren jokes. 

Chris grumbles a little in response, so Darren decides maybe some sincerity is in order. “But in all seriousness, I think you have a lot to do with why I’m different. I’m good at hiding behind the superficial charm and sarcasm and teasing, but that’s not the real me. I actually get really anxious in certain social situations, especially when I’m in my own head for too long. There’s a reason I don’t go to parties without my guitar or access to a piano if I can help it, you know? It gives me something to do. Otherwise I wind up drinking way too much and talking too loud and probably annoying the shit out of everyone.”

“The first step in getting better is admitting that there’s a problem,” Chris intones knowingly.

“Haha very funny,” Darren deadpans. “I don’t know that anyone would ever look at me at an event and think, “Hey, I bet this guy has social anxiety, but the weird thing is... you did. You saw that part of me from the day we met and that’s probably why I’m different with you, because I don’t have to keep up the facade.”

“So you’re just faking it the rest of the time?” Chris asks. There’s no judgment in his tone, just curiosity and slight confusion.

“No, I don’t know that I’d go that far,” Darren ponders. “I do have an extroverted side, I just can’t be that way all the time. Sometimes I need something different. Something like well…  _ this, _ ” he explains, gesturing towards the two of them.

“You need me?” Chris wonders aloud.

Despite the casualness in Chris’s tone, Darren’s heartbeat speeds up automatically and his cheeks feel hot. He had no intention of giving himself away like that, because in addition to being Darren’s best friend, Chris is also his coworker. And there are about a million reasons why admitting his complicated, growing feelings for Chris would likely be a mistake of epic proportions (not that that’s ever stopped Darren from similarly boneheaded moves in the past). They don’t call it being “a fool for love” for nothing. 

Darren doesn’t realize how long he’s paused to consider his reply until Chris’s fingers tangle in his hair a bit more firmly, tugging just hard enough to drag Darren’s head back and force him to meet Chris’s gaze. Hair pulling has always been kind of a thing for Darren and the piercing, powerful blue eyes that meet his only increase the ferocity of Darren’s desire. It’s _ so _ not the time or place but Darren’s human, and Chris has inadvertently stumbled into one of his biggest turn-ons. 

Darren opens his mouth to reply, but his brain must be short circuiting from anxiety and lust because he can’t come up with a reasonable reply for the life of him. “I don’t know if - I mean, I…” he babbles helplessly. 

“Wow, have I actually managed to stun silent the great and powerful, not to mention hyperverbal Darren Criss? I guess pigs really can fly,” Chris teases with a bemused grin. 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that occasionally I go an hour or more without speaking!” Darren huffs, pretending to be offended. But internally, he’s breathing a sigh of relief that their conversation has been steered back into safer, more familiar waters.

“It doesn’t count if you’re sleeping, dummy. And if our post-lunch trailer naps are anything to go by, you talk in your sleep more often than not,” Chris points out.

Darren shrugs. “Can I help it if dream-me has a lot to say?”

“Dork,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. “But I guess I’m going to take that as a no - no, you don’t really need me…”

Darren could just leave well enough alone, could continue their familiar pattern of bantering and teasing one another, but the truth is on the tip of his tongue, desperate to escape. “Of course I need you,” he murmurs, his voice low but still filled with conviction.

Chris’s fingers still in his hair with a handful of Darren’s curls in his fist. “Yeah?” he asks, obviously needing the reassurance. “I figured you would have already outgrown me, now that you’re an old pro who knows his way around set and has buddied up with the cast and crew.”

Darren’s puzzled by Chris’s sudden insecurity but recognizes that there must be at least a kernel of truth in what he’s saying. Strangely, this is the first time it occurred to him that Chris could possibly share some of his own fears or insecurities. “What ever gave you that idea, Colfer? Like, I was just using you as a free tour guide and the best friend thing was one big act? Because, for starters, I’m definitely not that good an actor…”

Chris snorts. “Okay, fair enough.”

It would be easy to move on to a new topic of conversation from there, but Darren feels lighter than he has in weeks with even that tiny confession, so he decides to continue. “I feel different when I’m with you,” he begins.

“Different how?”

Darren bites his lip and tries to figure out how to put his complicated feelings into words. “Like anything is possible for me, like I don’t have to pretend or hide parts of myself away. It’s like I can just… breathe and exist and get out of my own head, you know?”

Chris peers down at him expectantly, his fingers trailing over Darren’s temple as he sweeps back a wayward curl. “…kind of? Although I don’t know why you’d ever feel the need to hide parts of yourself away. You’re pretty great as is, and you’ve always struck me as being an open book.”

Chris has just posed a really loaded question, though Darren assumes Chris has no clue what he’s really asking. No one, save for his manager, publicist, immediate family, and a couple of very close friends from college, knows the full, unvarnished truth. He wants Chris to know but he fears it all the same, especially when he’s aware there will be first kisses and possibly even sex scenes for the two of them to film together in the near future. Darren doesn’t want to potentially make Chris feel uncomfortable or do anything that might disrupt the powerful chemistry they seem to have together on screen. Besides, they may spend nearly every waking hour together, but in reality he’s only known Chris for a couple of months. There’s no need to rush this; they have plenty of time. 

“Maybe with you I am,” Darren demurs, skillfully evading the other question. “But you’re different, as we’ve already established. And that’s just one of the many reasons why I said I need you. I may pretend like I’m usually an open book and that I have nothing to hide, but it’s an act, at least to some extent. With you, I can take off the mask and let my guard down. And that’s important. It’s…”

“...freeing?” Chris suggests, finishing Darren’s sentence for him. 

“Exactly,” Darren breathes. He reaches over and finds Chris’s hand, threading their fingers together before giving his hand a quick squeeze. “That’s why I’m so lucky.”

Chris shakes his head. “No, that’s why  _ we’re _ so lucky.”

Darren’s stomach flutters at the glimpse of the fond smile Chris shares with him. He grins back like an idiot, unable or maybe just unwilling to temper the joy he feels. Being with Chris, whether it’s just the two of them alone or part of the crowd during a rare public outing, feels like the most natural thing in the world, all his fears and doubts and worries just fading away. “The luckiest,” he agrees, smoothing his thumb along Chris’s knuckles. 

Chris nods in affirmation, a soft smile lighting up his face once more. “Speaking of luck, how long until we’re needed back on set?”

Darren glances at his watch. “We’ve got… forty-five minutes.”

“Perfect,” Chris says, stretching his arms overhead and swiveling first to the left and then to right until the base of his spine pops audibly. “That means we’ve got just enough time for a quick nap.”

“...but I was writing,” Darren protests weakly, gesturing to the bright pink moleskin notebook he’s resting on one bent knee.

Chris rolls his eyes. “You call that writing?” He glances at his laptop screen, clicking the trackpad twice in quick succession to pull something up. “I’ve written 1,639 words in the last forty-five minutes. How about you?”

“Hey now, sorry if we can’t all be writing prodigies like yourself!! And for the record, good song lyrics take time, but I’ve already written a chorus and one and a half verses so far this afternoon,” Darren huffs defensively.

“Congrats,” Chris remarks drolly. “And for your reward, it’s nap time.”

“But--” Darren starts to protest.

“Are you a toddler? A stubborn preschooler?” Chris interrupts him.

“Um… no?”

“You’re practically the only adult I know who fights taking naps like a petulant child. Most people I know would be thrilled to have a job where they have the option of a post-lunch nap,” Chris points.

“Yeah well, I’m not most people,” Darren smirks.

Chris chuckles. “You don’t say. But fine, I’ll make you a deal. If you can  _ honestly _ tell me you got more than four hours of sleep last night, I’ll let you opt out of nap time. Otherwise, it’s mandatory. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”

Darren briefly considers lying to Chris, but he’s not entirely sure if he could even pull it off. He swears Chris is a human lie detector, at least where Darren is concerned. Maybe that’s just what happens when you know someone so well and spend so much time together. Besides, despite his objections, Darren isn’t really opposed to napping with Chris. He’s not sure if he’ll actually fall asleep and he does need to work on his song lyrics a bit more, but luckily songwriting is one of those jobs he can _ literally _ do lying down. 

“Well…” Darren begins, pretending to hang his head in shame.

“Thought so,” Chris smirks, triumphant. “Okay, sit up for a second so I can rearrange us?”

Darren is all too happy to oblige, even though he was already quite comfortable in Chris’s lap. He’ll never turn down cuddle time with Chris in any way, shape, or form. He pushes up to a seated position with a quiet groan and a bit of an assist from Chris, who must be feeling extra charitable today. Chris has a tendency to get pretty cocky after churning out thousands of words over his lunch break. He’s just the consummate overachiever that way, and it’s one of the many things Darren loves about him. 

_ Love _ . There’s that word again. No matter how much Darren tries to stuff it down, it keeps bobbing up to the surface. Every time Chris grins at him, every incidence of a shared touch or caress on set, every single time Darren has a little too much whiskey to drink after a long week, he gets closer and closer to saying the word. The one that he knows he can’t take back. It seems insane, because Darren has never made much effort to censor himself before. He’s always been very affectionate and loving, whether that was with his closest friends like Joey and Lauren, or with his roommate and maybe first “real” boyfriend in Etai. He’s never much cared for expected social norms or what people might think of him. He loves his friends and he tells them that all the time. It should be simple, but it’s Chris, and nothing about what Darren feels for Chris is that simple or easy. 

For today, Darren will settle for this, though. He may not get to tell Chris exactly how he feels, but he can snuggle in close and laugh but only cling harder when Chris calls him a human koala bear. He can pretend to be sleeping when really he’s just listening to the reassuring thump of Chris’s heartbeat through the thin layer of his cotton shirt. He can briefly lace their fingers together, their intertwined hands swinging between them as they stumble back to the set ten minutes late. He can pretend they both overslept when really he knows they were just way too warm and cozy and content to move from the couch. 

Darren doesn’t know if it’ll be enough tomorrow, but for today, he’s certain he’s right where he belongs. 


	2. Chapter 2

Darren’s tenure on the show quickly climbs from a two to three episode arc to a regular gig. He’s thrilled since he’s never had a job that means so much to him, both personally but also broadly in what it represents for the LGBTQ community. He’s part of a very popular, very prominent gay teenage couple, and that _means_ something. Darren starts getting tweets and letters by the thousands from grateful kids and their parents who pour out their hearts to him. It’s a heady thing, and the responsibility is not one he takes lightly. The only problem is that he can’t explain exactly _why_ this role means so much to him, why he says yes to every invitation LGBTQ charities send his way.

He does his best to dodge the questions about his personal life and sexuality, saying that it simply doesn’t matter. It truly  _shouldn’t_ matter because he’s an actor playing a role, but Darren’s also not naive enough to think he can avoid these questions forever. He was a fan once, he knows why people are curious and eager to connect with him on a personal level. All he wants is for his fans to be connecting with the _real_ him, warts and all; but time and time again, his team prevents that, reminding him that his job on Glee is still a temporary one, and he needs to think about his long-term career prospects. Apparently his long term success involves him not outing himself as bisexual, lest it prevent some narrow-minded casting director from considering him for heterosexual parts. It’s stupid, but Darren is new to the business and he doesn’t want to disappoint his team or close himself off to future job opportunities. He still can’t believe he's lucky enough to even _have_ a manager and a publicist, but that means his success and ability to book future jobs affects the livelihood of multiple people now. People are depending on him not to let them down, and that’s not a responsibility that Darren takes lightly.

More than anything, Darren wishes he could talk to Chris about his dilemma. If anyone would have the blunt but useful advice about coming out that Darren needs, it would definitely be Chris, the same Chris who was practically still a child himself when he went on a talk show and put his sexuality out there for the whole world to judge. Darren can distinctly remember watching the clip of Chris coming out to Chelsea Handler on YouTube and marveling at the strength and bravery Chris possessed. He still doesn’t know where Chris gets that courage from, but he desperately wishes that some of it would rub off on him.

Later on in private, Chris admits to Darren that his decision to come out so soon was largely influenced by the fact that he knew he wasn’t straight passing. Everyone has just assumed Chris was gay ever since he was in elementary school; he didn’t even know what the word _gay_ meant back then, but he naturally assumed it must be something bad given the vitriol with which the word tripped off the tongues of the bullies who made his childhood hell. Hearing Chris talk about his school experience makes Darren’s stomach ache with sympathetic regret, while simultaneously marveling at how incredibly lucky he was to grow up in San Francisco with understanding parents and open-minded friends. Darren has never even considered his own privilege in being straight passing until Chris details his personal struggles in coming out, and then Darren feels guilty all over again for a whole new reason. It would be the perfect time to say something to Chris, but Darren loses his nerve yet again. He tells himself he’s not lying to Chris, not really, but it still feels disingenuous, especially as they grow closer and closer with each passing day.

They talk about pretty much everything else, so it feels strange to tiptoe around the topic of sexuality. Darren tries to hint where he can, frequently commenting on the attractiveness of various male celebrities in front of Chris and regularly lavishing Chris with physical affection, not that that’s any hardship for Darren. He thinks ( _hopes?_ ) that Chris knows him well enough to read between the lines, even if he can’t explicitly state or announce that he’s bisexual. Besides, the interviews Darren gives to media outlets like People and Entertainment Weekly aren’t written for Chris or their other coworkers, they are written primarily for the fans. Chris is one of the smartest people Darren knows, so surely he’ll understand the difference and the necessity of what Darren’s doing. Chris can’t possibly begrudge Darren some creative semantics and evasion on the topic of his love life, right?

Maybe if Darren repeats it to himself often enough, he’ll finally start buying what his team is telling him to sell.

* * *

Darren gets possibly the best news of his life on a random Tuesday at the end of February. He rolls out of bed and almost directly into his car, covering his still wet hair with a random beanie he shoved into the glovebox for just such an occasion. By the time he parks in the Paramount lot and shuffles into the hair and makeup trailer with a whole two minutes to spare until his call time, he can already tell something’s up. There’s a weird electricity in the air, the whole set is practically buzzing with it.

Chris is seated in the swivel chair in the far corner, double fisting coffee and a Diet Coke and chattering excitedly with Isabelle while she does some complicated-looking swoopy thing to his hair. That’s definitely a sign that something big has happened, because it’s barely 6 am and unlike Darren, Chris is never that talkative or energetic first thing in morning. Usually Darren has to restrain himself from starting any conversation until Chris has had at least one full Diet Coke or Chris will practically bite his head off.

“Goooood morning,” Darren hums as he drops into the chair nearest Chris. “Someone seems mighty chipper today. Did you finally get some decent sleep last night?”

Chris snorts and rolls his eyes fondly. “Nah, I was up late writing, and you’re so not one to talk about sleep deprivation.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I do sleep on occasion… when the moon is full and Mercury is in retrograde,” Darren jokes.

“Suuuuuure you do,” Chris sing-songs. “I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever seen you sleep voluntarily is when I force you to nap in my trailer.”

“If you have to force me, that wouldn’t exactly be voluntary, now would it?”

Chris sighs with mock exasperation. “You’re a ridiculous and highly frustrating human being.”

“I’m just saying - words have meaning, Christopher. And as a writing prodigy, I’d assume you of all people would know that,” Darren says with a teasing wink. “You know, one of these days you’re actually going to have to let me read this mystery project you’ve been slaving away on for months.”

Chris tilts his head to one side, considering Darren for a moment. “We’ll see,” he finally demurs noncommittally.

Darren rubs his hands together. “Oh believe me, I will.”

Darren’s about to ask Chris about what’s got the whole set all atwitter, but before he can, Stacy makes her way over to him with the giant vat of hair gel required to get him into character. He settles in for the arduous process, closing his eyes so that one of the makeup artists can start applying moisturizer and primer to his face while Stacy smoothes his curls into submission. Darren’s look as Blaine is pretty set in stone at this point so they are a well oiled machine, working in tandem to get him camera ready quickly and relatively painlessly. Darren’s considering how much of an impediment him falling asleep in the chair would be to Stacy and Jason’s work when Chris’s voice startles him fully awake.

“I can’t believe you aren’t even a little bit curious about the big news,” Chris huffs, sounding the teensiest bit disappointed in Darren.

“Who said I wasn’t? Maybe I was just patiently waiting for you to come out with it.”

Chris chuckles. “Since when do you ever do anything patiently?”

“Yeah okay, you’ve got me there,” Darren laughs. “Do tell.”

“So, you know how Ryan said something months ago about another tour? Sort of like the one we did last summer, except y’know, not shitty?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t shitty,” Darren says. “I have a hard time believing anything that you guys do could be anything other than awesome.”

Chris shakes his head, bemused. “You’re such a kiss ass sometimes.”

Darren shrugs. “You’ve got a nice ass, so can you really blame me? There are much worse things I could want to kiss, trust me.”

Chris’s cheeks immediately flush bright red, the color even creeping down to the sliver of exposed chest. Darren tries really, really hard not to imagine just how far down that blush extends. “Dude, it’s a little early to be going all gay porn euphemisms on me,” Chris covers, though Darren is pretty sure he’s still flustered by the way he avoids direct eye contact. Darren might feel a little flustered himself, except that it’s 6 am, he got barely three hours sleep last night, and he doesn’t have much of a filter even on a good day.

The comment shocks a helpless giggle and grin out of Darren. Jason, the makeup artist still working on Darren’s face, has to put down his makeup brush because he’s laughing so hard he’s liable to poke Darren’s eye out otherwise.

“Anyways, back to the _important_ part of my story,” Chris says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Clearly we must strongly disagree about how important gay porn is,” Darren teases. “But proceed!”

“So, we got all the tour specs in an email memo thingie from Ryan…” Chris begins.

“...and? Are you still touring the finest Hot Topics in the land or are you moving on up to Cinnabon this time?” Darren teases, referencing the small promotional mall tour the cast had done last summer.

“Mmm Cinnabon,” Chris sighs. “Dammit, now I’m going to be craving a cinnamon roll all morning long, thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Darren grins, no trace of irony in his tone.

“Okay asshole, do you want to hear where we’re going or not?” Chris huffs impatiently.

“Dying of suspense over here,” Darren agrees. “Do tell.”

“We’re going to proper stadiums like, all over the country,” Chris tells Darren, his eyes wide. “We’re talking giant venues where _Beyonce_ has performed.”

Darren has to laugh at how Chris whispers the last part, as if anywhere Beyonce has stepped is hallowed ground deserving of the utmost reverence. Which, come to think of it, maybe it is. “That’s great, man. You’re going to be huge… bigger than the Beatles, even.” He tries to sound more excited than he feels, because there’s a whole lot of jealousy he’s working on stuffing down.

“I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Chris adds, smirking.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“We’re doing a few international tour stops too: Manchester, London, and Dublin. Can you believe it? I’ve never even been to Europe before,” Chris gushes.

“Wow man, that’s amazing,” Darren says. He’s truthfully still pretty bitter about all that he’s missing out on, but Chris has got the biggest grin on his face that Darren’s possibly ever seen in his life and Darren could never begrudge him such genuine happiness. “You guys are going to have a blast. I’m jealous!”

“That’s still not the best part,” Chris says, eyes sparkling with something Darren can’t quite identify.

“Okay, if you’re about to tell me you’re playing a gig on the moon, I’m going to have to call bullshit,” Darren chuckles.

“You don’t check your email very often, do you?” Chris asks cryptically instead of replying.

“Uh, I do from time to time. Just not at the asscrack of dawn before I’ve even had my coffee. Why?” Darren wonders aloud.

“You’re coming with us, idiot,” Chris finally announces, his smile almost blinding now.

“Wait, you mean like…?” Darren gasps, mouth agape.

“Yeah, they are going to have the Warblers do a little set with a couple of songs, I think? And they actually want you and I to some short skit type thing together. They are having Naya and Heather do one too, so I guess we're just putting the gays front and center for a change,” Chris giggles.

“Holy shit,” Darren breathes. “Like they want me for all of them? Even the international tour dates?”

“Apparently. I can’t imagine where they could have gotten such a crazy idea, but…” Chris deadpans. “Are you excited?”

Darren suddenly feels so buoyant, he might float away. “Beyond - excited doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he babbles. “If I weren’t currently having my hair shellacked, I would totally hug you right now.”

“And if I wouldn’t wind up getting face paint all over your nice white shirt, I _might_ hug you back,” Chris teases familiarly.

“Might, huh? Ouch. Who says I would give you any choice in the matter?” Darren says, his cheeks starting to hurt from grinning so widely. He has to settle for reaching over and squeezing Chris’s shoulder.

“We’re going to have so much fun,” Chris says, bouncing in his seat a little with excitement.

“We are.”

* * *

And they really _do_ have fun, especially during those heady first shows, where the adoration of a massive live audience hits them like a wave and the adrenaline carries them through the singing and dancing onstage and spills over to their all too frequent after parties.

However, the one thing that Darren hadn’t really banked on was just how exhausting it all would be. He’s mostly used to subsisting on caffeine and random naps and very little actual sleep but even he has his limits. With the grueling travel schedule, regular two-performance days, the late nights, and booze which often becomes their method of escape, by the middle of week three, everyone is starting to drag. Half the cast is fighting off a cold they keep passing back and forth to one another and everyone is alternatively sleep deprived or hungover as hell. Darren handles it better than most, because less than four hours of sleep a night is his default. Chris, on the other hand, appears to be falling apart at the seams. Darren wants nothing more than to help; he's just not entirely sure how his method of helping will be received. With Chris, it's always a toss up.

“Chris!” Darren calls out, bounding up to him in the lobby of their hotel and rocking back and forth on his heels with his excitement to tell him what he's arranged.

Chris coolly looks him up and down before responding with considerably less enthusiasm, “Darren.”

It should douse cold water on Darren’s enthusiasm, but somehow it doesn’t. He’s practically unstoppable for a good three hours after one of their performances, the adrenaline flooding his body with, well... _glee_ , ironically enough. “Guess what?”

“I don’t do guessing games, especially not at midnight after a two-show day,” Chris grumbles. Darren’s suddenly reminded that performing seems to sap energy from Chris, rather than electrify him. He supposes that putting on a show for tens of thousands of roaring fans is probably pretty draining for an introvert.

“Okay sorry, I should have known,” Darren replies, chastened. “But I just checked the room assignments for the night, though, which saves you a trip to look and means you can crawl in bed even sooner. Yay?”

“Depends on who I’m rooming with,” Chris sighs. “Last night, Kevin and Naya held an impromptu party in our room, one that didn’t wind down until 3 am, so...”

“That sucks,” Darren sympathizes. “Also, why wasn’t I invited?”

“Can’t have it both ways,” Chris points out. “Just be glad you weren’t there or you’d be facing the full power of my wrath today.”

Darren nods sagely in reply. He’s thankful for that small blessing.

“Alright, out with it, Criss,” Chris finally prompts after a moment of silence.

“You’re rooming with me!” Darren announces.

Chris raises one eyebrow, looking wary. “ _Oh_.”

“...that is good news, right? Or at least, not horrible news? I promise not to throw any lavish parties. I won’t even suggest an all night Star Wars marathon,” Darren babbles, feeling suddenly nervous. That might have something to do with his growing crush or maybe it’s just because of how very un-enthused Chris seems at the prospect of sharing a room with him for the night.

“No, it’s not horrible news,” Chris says, damning him with the faintest of praise.

“Thanks, I think?” Darren chuckles. “Good to know sharing a hotel room with me will only be mildly awful.”

Chris rushes to reassure Darren. “No no, it’s not you, honey,” he promises. “It’s just... I sleepwalk and sleeptalk and all that good stuff, and it tends to get worse the more grumpy and sleep deprived I am. Like right now, for instance. I just hope rooming with me won’t be that awful for _you_.”

Darren’s brain is still hung up on the part where Chris called him honey. Pet names are kind of a thing for him, and yeah sure, Chris may use them with a lot of his friends, but it somehow still manages to make Darren feel special. “Well, I’ve been known to occasionally sing in my sleep, so we’ll make quite the pair.”

Chris snorts. “Of course you do. Let me guess... you sleep-sing _Wonderwall_?”

“Hey now, even my unconscious self is not usually _that_ cliched,” Darren gasps, pretending to be affronted.

“I guess that remains to be seen,” Chris says with a big grin that exposes a row of tiny, perfect teeth. It’s what Darren’s been aiming for all night, possibly all week.

“That’s the spirit!” Darren crows triumphantly. “I already got our keys from the front desk. C’mon, let’s go check out our swanky pad for the night.”

* * *

Rooming with Chris turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. Despite being exhausted, they both hit a second wind and end up talking each other’s faces off well into the early hours of the morning. Given that they are expected on the tourbus at 10 am sharp, showered, caffeinated, and ready for the day ahead, that doesn’t leave nearly as much time for sleep as Chris had been hoping for. Darren, on the other hand, is used to running on four or five hours of sleep, so he figures he’ll be just fine.

What he definitely hadn’t banked on being woken up at 4 am by a piercing scream from Chris’s bed. He’s out of his own bed and on his feet before he’s even fully awake. Chris is moving restlessly, the sheets and comforter twisted around his limbs, but his eyes are still closed. Darren watches him helplessly for a moment, waiting until his own heart stops racing like it might explode out of his chest. Chris had conveniently left out the sleep screaming when detailing his nocturnal quirks, but Darren figures it’s of a piece with sleeptalking and sleepwalking.

Darren can’t remember if waking up a sleeptalking person is dangerous or not but he hates to see Chris suffering, even if it’s only with a nightmare. So, he tentatively sits on the edge of Chris’s bed, studying the furrow between Chris’s brows, the tension in his jaw, the irregularly flailing limbs. Not knowing what else to do, he defaults to what his mother used to do for him when he had bad dreams as a small child. He reaches out tentatively, brushing a curling lock of hair from Chris’s temple. There’s a small twitch from Chris, but he doesn’t wake, so Darren continues, patiently stroking Chris’s hair until the furrow between his brows begins to relax. In the predawn hours where everything takes on a slightly surreal, dreamlike quality, Darren doesn’t feel at all self-conscious about softly singing the first song that pops into his head to Chris.

 _Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around_  
_Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around_  
_Demons are prowling everywhere nowadays_  
_I'll send them howling_  
_I don't care, I got ways_  
_No one's gonna hurt you,_  
_No one's gonna dare_  
_Others can desert you,_  
_Not to worry, whistle, I'll be there!_

By the time Darren gets to the last verse, it seems Chris’s nightmare has been banished. He’s totally still once more, his face slack and his breathing deep and even.

Darren, on the other hand, scarcely breathes as he bends down to place a gentle kiss to Chris’s forehead. Then, he tiptoes back to his own bed and collapses into it. He glances over one final time to ensure Chris is still sleeping soundly before he lets his own eyes fall shut. He’s completely out in mere seconds, and until he’s awakened again, all he dreams of is Chris.

* * *

Darren’s still floating on a cloud somewhere, blissfully unaware of the outside world, when he feels a tug on his arm.

“Shh, go back to sleep, baby,” he groans in his semi-conscious state, wrapping his arms more firmly around what he thinks is either a body pillow or a person. The details don’t really seem important when he’s just. so. tired.

“Oh,” a high pitched, familiar voice gasps. Darren can feel the warm breath against his neck in time with the gasp. “...um?” That’s all that is said, but the unspoken question hangs in the air, along with the expectation that Darren needs to explain himself and _right now_.

Darren forces his eyes open, groaning at the sliver of bright light that seeps in from the partially closed window blinds. He’s in Chris’s bed now instead of his own with Chris protectively tucked into his embrace. Both of his arms are wrapped tightly around Chris’s waist. Chris’s head is resting on his shoulder, with Chris’s messy bed head tickling Darren’s chin. Darren’s even thrown one leg over both of Chris’s thighs for good measure to ensure he stays on the bed. It probably looks bad without the context, but Darren has good reason for the overprotective, hovering act. He has plenty of reason to be exhausted this morning, too.

Darren tilts his head down and sees Chris peering up at him expectantly. He doesn’t look mad, actually, just confused and a bit... lost? Still, Darren figures there’s no time like the present to put everything out there. “I can explain,” Darren begins, already a little panicked.

Chris looks bemused. “I assume it involves me sleepwalking last night?”

“Yeah,” Darren sighs in relief. “Also sleeptalking and sleep screaming and sleep flailing - just all the sleep shenanigans. To be honest, you scared the shit out of me, Colfer.”

Chris tries to pull away, but he’s still too wrapped up in Darren’s embrace to get very far. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, looking vaguely humiliated. “I did try to warn you.”

“Hey no, there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed of,” Darren soothes, running a hand up and down Chris’s arm reassuringly. “First of all, it’s not your fault, and I don’t mind taking care of you one bit. It’s just... I don’t think I was really prepared for the full severity of your sleep issues before last night. I probably should have taken your warnings more seriously.”

Chris bites his lip, a sight which Darren finds highly distracting. “What all did I do, exactly?” Chris asks tentatively. “Or do I not even want to know?”

“Well, you woke me up screaming around 4 am. I think you were having a nightmare, but I got you calmed back down pretty fast,” Darren begins. “Then about thirty minutes later, I woke up to the sound of you running into the glass door of the balcony? By the time I managed to jump out of bed and get to you, you had the sliding door to the balcony halfway open...” Even now, Darren still shudders at the thought of just how close a sleepwalking Chris had come to certain death had he gone over the balcony railing, given that their hotel room is all the way up on the nineteenth story of the building.

“Oh god,” Chris gasps, equally horrified. He’s done some pretty stupid, occasionally dangerous things in his sleep-drunk state in the past, but nothing nearly as scary and lethal.

“Yeah,” Darren sighs, his voice haunted. “I guess we didn’t realize we’d left the the balcony door unlocked when we went to bed. I’ll never make that mistake again, though, and you really shouldn’t either.”

“I guess not,” Chris agrees, though it feels more like placating to Darren. “Such is my life.”

The casualness of Chris’s tone doesn’t sit well with Darren and how fucking terrified he was last night. The thought of it happening again or what could have occurred if Darren hadn’t been there? He shudders involuntarily at the mere thought. “Chris, I’m serious though. Why haven’t you said something to Ryan and Zach? I’m sure if you explained your situation, they’d give you your own room so you could get some real rest,” Darren suggests.

“Uh, if I’d had my own room last night, I might be dead now, Darren,” Chris points out, matter of fact. It’s a sobering reminder.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t even think— I’m sorry, Chris. You’re totally right. I’m probably being really insensitive. I’m sure this was all really traumatic for you,” Darren murmurs in apology.

“Honey, I think if anyone was going to have PTSD from last night, it would be you,” Chris says. “I wasn’t aware or conscious for the whole sordid event. You were.”

Darren swallows hard. Even now, the memory of last night is palpable and utterly terrifying. “Yeah, I was,” he echoes.

Chris reaches down and finds Darren’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “You okay?”

Darren nods slowly. “As long as you are. But please don’t scare me like that again, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best. No more moonlight strolls in the clouds,” Chris agrees breezily.

“For real though,” Darren presses. “From now on, you should always take the bed farthest away from the balcony and make sure the balcony door is locked up tight before you go to bed. It also wouldn’t be a horrible idea to give Ryan and Zach a head’s up, if only so that you could be assigned a first floor room or a room without balcony access.”

All of the sudden, Chris’s face goes stony and impassive. “I don’t want everyone to know, Darren. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Chris, everyone here is practically family. They won’t judge you, especially not for something you have no control over,” Darren protests. It seems silly to worry over that in the grand scheme of things, especially when Chris’s life is potentially at stake.

“Ryan and Zach are my producer and choreographer, respectively. They are my _employers_ , not my surrogate family. And I don’t need them all up in my personal business hearing about my secret shame and—” Chris snipes back, his eyes dark.

“But you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of,” Darren interjects. “I know the truth, and I don’t see you any differently or think any less of you.”

“Well, yeah but that’s _you_. You’re different,” Chris says, his tone softer and a little less biting now.

Darren raises one impressive brow. “I am?”

Chris smiles softly. “Of course you are. You’re my best friend. I feel like I can tell you just about anything, and I don’t have to worry about you judging me or doubting my choices and intentions.”

The validation means far more to Darren than he lets on. He’s always wanted to know he’s special to Chris in even some small way. He’s hungry (read: desperate) for Chris’s approval, and getting an unsolicited taste of it is a heady thing. “Well, that's true, except for your taste in sequels. That I’m going to continue to judge the fuck out of,” Darren teases.

“Oh my god, for the hundredth time, I never said I _liked_ the _Star Wars_ prequels, Darren!” Chris groans. “I just said they weren’t nearly as bad as everyone always made them out to be. That’s all. Hardly a ringing endorsement.”

“Suuuuure you didn’t,” Darren needles. “Tell the truth, your favorite _Star Wars_ movie is _The Phantom Menace_.”

“Lies, all lies,” Chris scoffs, shoving Darren playfully. “You’re the worst.”

“Let me remind you that I quite possibly saved your life last night. I’m the _best_.”

Chris has no ready response to that, so instead he just lets his head flop back against Darren’s chest with an audible thump.

“Hey now, no need to get violent,” Darren chastises. “I thought white knights that come to the hero’s rescue were supposed to get more respect than this… also possibly a parade in their honor?”

“Ugh, I’m never going to live this down, am I?” Chris sighs.

“I may continue to give you shit about how I saved your life, at least through the weekend,” Darren confirms. “Sorry if that makes me a monster.”

Chris laughs. “Touche. Don’t know if I can arrange a parade on such short notice, but something tells me I’m probably on coffee retrieval duty this morning?”

“I mean— given that you are the reason I’m so sleep deprived today, that seems like the least you can do. Like, the absolute and very least,” Darren says, eyes sparkling with mirth.

Chris folds his hands under his chin and looks up at Darren. “I aim to please… or semi-satisfy with absolute bare minimum required, anyway. Still, this nonsense is probably going to get old fast, so you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Aww Christopher, you think I’m cute?” Darren pretends to swoon, though his blush is real enough.

Chris rolls his eyes as he drags himself from their shared bed and staggers over to his bag of clothes on the loveseat. He quickly chooses a clean t-shirt and pair of jeans. Then, he picks up one of the throw pillows and chucks it at directly at Darren’s head. “Oh please, you’re adorable and you totally know it. And now I’m going to get dressed and venture to the Starbucks in the lobby. You can figure out how to repay me later.”

Darren salutes. “Yes sir!”

It may have been a shitty night, but it’s a pretty fantastic start to the day.

* * *

The rest of the tour seems to fly by in the blink of an eye: a whirlwind of cities and venues and hotels, so relentless that Darren gives up even trying to remember what city and state they’re in on any given day. It’s exhausting but exhilarating, both in feeding off the electricity of the live crowd but more importantly, growing ever closer to Chris.

A month ago, Darren wouldn’t have thought that possible, assuming he and Chris were as close as two unmarried people could be. He was wrong. But if being wrong was always this fun, well, Darren would never want to be right again.

One the most enjoyable parts of the summer tour winds up being the bet he strikes up with Chris. Darren will fully cop to being pretty damn cocky and maybe a little drunk when he comes up with it, insistent that his Michigan theater training and patently ridiculous college friends who live to embarrass one another have made him all but unbreakable onstage. Chris, being the hyper-competitive and witty bastard that he is, won’t take such a blatant challenge lying down.

The irony is that Chris says this while literally lying down in the hotel bed they’re sharing. Darren’s spent the better part of the last month conveniently getting himself assigned to be Chris’s hotel roommate by begging, pleading, and occasionally even bribing whichever cast member Chris is supposed to room with that evening into trading rooms with him. After Chris’s near swan dive off a balcony, Darren’s just not willing to take any chances. However, eventually Chris clues into Darren’s behind the scenes machinations and allows him to abandon any pretense that this is all one big happy accident. They are going to share the same room, likely even the same bed, and neither one of them is going to particularly bothered by the closeness. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Through it all, they rehearse together, perform together, eat together, drink together, and usually even sleep together. Darren feels like they are already dating, albeit unofficially without labels, though privately the rest of the cast even begins referring to them as an old married couple, teasing them for how often they beg off after-hours excursions to clubs or out to dinner in favor of watching movies or having their own low-key hotel suite parties. Darren is nursing feelings that go well beyond a crush, and unless he’s truly mistaken, he thinks Chris has real feelings for him as well. The only question is who will be the first to address how they both feel. When it comes to romance, Darren’s always favored actions over words and that’s exactly where their off the cuff bet winds up coming into play in ways that Darren could never have foreseen.

* * *

As Darren lounges in front of his mirror in the dressing area backstage at the Dublin venue, he’s hit with an overwhelming wave of nausea, his stomach fluttering every time he thinks about what he’s planning to do. It’s the last night of their tour and Darren’s never really had to deal with stage fright before, but somehow he's got an overwhelming case of it tonight.

Darren’s anxiety isn’t about the Dublin audience already packing the venue for tonight’s show, because he’s too busy worrying about the plan he’s laid out to win the bet and if he’s lucky, Chris’s heart as well. As he so often does to kill time before performances, Darren reaches for his phone and begins scrolling through social media. His Twitter mentions have become a much busier place lately as word spread about the reason why he and Chris keep ad libbing new lines in their skit together. So far, any discussion of the bet has been mostly just hints or sly winks to the fans, followed up by one response to a direct question with a reporter in a small media interview about the tour. Darren's response to her has really blown up in the last seven days, at least among the more dedicated Glee fans, and suddenly Darren is getting hundreds of tweets asking him about it. It’s a heady thing, having a direct line to seeing people discussing him and even discussing his relationship with Chris. Most of the tweets he sees have been positive, thankfully and buoyed by that swell of support, Darren decides maybe it’s time to up the ante a little. He and Chris have spent the better part of the summer flirting, both onstage and in private. Social media acknowledgment seems like the next logical step, and he knows Chris has always been enjoyed a bit of a tease.

Before he has the chance to overthink it, he types up a quick tweet.

_@DarrenCriss: Tonight, I’m totally going to crack him._

He takes a deep breath and pictures exactly what he wants to do onstage. He pictures cupping Chris’s face, leaning in, and kissing him senseless. He wonders if the roar of the crowd will drown out his racing heart, wonders if they’ll be blinded by all the flashes going off around them. One thing he knows for sure: once he hits submit on the tweet, there will be no going back.

He exhales shakily, summons courage from deep within, and clicks the button.

* * *

Darren smiles softly at the picture in front of him as he steps back out onto the hotel balcony some hazy number of hours later. Chris is lounging on a reclined deck chair, his profile lit up by the streetlamps of Dublin below them. His cheeks are red with the alcohol they’ve been sharing all night and his hair is messy and windswept. If Darren wasn’t already at that point, this moment would probably be when he fell at least a little in love with Chris. But that revelation is nearly a month old, the words weighing heavier and heavier on his tongue with each passing day he keeps them to himself. Darren doesn’t know how much longer he can keep his feelings secret and he’s convinced himself that tonight’s the night. The only problem is that he’s told himself that more than once in the past, and yet here he is.

He plops down unceremoniously next to Chris, nearly sending the plastic cup of coffee and Bailey’s liqueur he’s just mixed for them flying to the ground. Thankfully, he’s got good reflexes, even when he’s two thirds of the way to drunk.

“Ooh, nice save,” Chris congratulates, eyes wide. “Do you have any other superpowers I need to be aware of?”

Darren laughs. “Mainly just that one. I take my alcohol consumption very seriously. I’d never spill a drop.”

“Maybe you’ve just had a lot of practice?” Chris slurs. “More practice than me.”

“What, like that’s hard? You turned twenty-one not even a month ago.”

“Shh, don’t tell ‘em,” Chris whispers, inexplicably gesturing to the deserted street below.

Darren chuckles despite himself, wrapping his arm around a slightly swaying Chris long enough to press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Sweet.”

“We should get you drunk more often. It’s fun,” Darren remarks idly.

“Not in the morning it won’t be,” Chris groans. “We’re all going to die.”

It’s sort of a valid concern, given that this is the after after-party, technically. First, there was the tour wrap party with an open bar financed by the studio, followed by the raucous after-party on the twenty-first floor that spilled between three of their cast mates's interconnected hotel suites. Darren suggested they beat a quick retreat back to their much calmer, quieter room and Chris put up little protest because well, he’s Chris. And if Darren is totally honest, he didn’t really feel like sharing Chris with anyone else.

“Not on my watch you won't. I’m pretty good at hangover aftercare, so I promise you’ll be in excellent hands,” Darren promises.

At the mention of hands, Chris reaches over and picks up one of Darren’s. “Oh, you’re so warm,” he sighs appreciatively.

“You’re cold?” Darren checks, though it’s probably not necessary to given the way Chris is already nuzzling his shoulder with a slight shiver.

“Yeah.”

Darren wraps both his arms around Chris’s shoulders, rubbing at Chris’s goosebump covered upper arms to try to generate a little warmth through friction. His slightly buzzed brain automatically supplies a corresponding song lyric from his own song, and Darren is singing it softly before he even really realizes what he’s doing.

_I've got a better proposition, and the friction that you need._

Yeah, his brain is an asshole like that.

Thankfully, Chris is probably too drunk to really notice why that’s a very, very inappropriate song for Darren to be singing while he’s all pressed up against Chris. Instead, he just hums happily to himself and turns his face to bury it in Darren’s neck and that’s... really not helping things either.

Chris seems very well primed for the discussion Darren’s been wanting to have for almost a month now, but he’s also drunk and Darren keeps equivocating on whether or not that makes the having _The Talk_ now easier or just stupid.

“Drink,” Chris mumbles, warmth breath gusting over Darren’s skin.

“Yeah, I think we’ve already done that,” Darren points out teasingly.

“No, drink - gimme,” Chris demands, holding out his hand.

“I thought we were taking a lil timeout on that? Remember, so you don’t die of a hangover tomorrow?”

“I’m a big boy, Darren,” Chris insists. It’s kind of undercut by the way his statement is punctuated with a loud hiccup.

Darren can’t hold back his laughter, and Chris gives him one hell of a death glare.

He quickly throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright alright, don’t murder me with your Vulcan mind meld, and I’ll let you share my drink with me. Just take it slow. You can never taste the alcohol with Bailey’s so it sneaks up on you. Deal?”

Chris nods, accepting the plastic cup from Darren and taking a large swig. “Oh, you are a bartending god,” he gulps, eyes wide.

“Uh uh, not so fast,” Darren tuts when he sees Chris start to go in for another sip. “That’s not how sharing works. And I’ll have you know that sharing is caring, Christopher Paul Colfer.”

“Boo, you whore,” Chris grumbles as Darren pries the cup out of his hand. “And why do you always call me by my full name, weirdo?”

“Dunno. Why do you always call me ‘idiot’ or ‘weirdo?’”

Chris snorts. “Because you are both of those things.”

“Well, see if I make you a delicious drink ever again after that comment,” Darren pretends to huff.

“Pshh, you’d do anything for me,” Chris says, full of certainty.

He’s not wrong. Maybe Darren hasn’t been nearly as subtle as he’s convinced himself he has been. “Maybe,” he finally demurs.

Chris lifts his head from Darren’s shoulder and peers up at him, his gaze intent. “I can’t believe the tour is over.”

“I know, right? This time tomorrow we’ll be on a plane on our way home again,” Darren marvels, shaking his head. He’s both looking forward to the break and dreading it, because it’ll inevitably take him farther away from Chris. He’s spent the better part of the last month sharing a hotel room, if not an actual bed with Chris, and that level of closeness is very unlikely to replicated. “I’m going to miss it.”

“I’m going to miss _you_ ,” Chris sighs.

“Yeah?” Darren asks, swallowing hard.

“Won’t you miss me?” Chris wonders aloud. Even with the haze of alcohol coursing through Chris’s veins, Darren can still see the momentary insecurity and naked anxiety flicker across his face.

“Of course I will,” Darren rushes to reassure. “I miss you already, to be honest.”

“That makes no sense. I’m right here,” Chris points out, oblivious to what Darren is really trying to say albeit obliquely.

Darren wraps his arms around Chris a little tighter, resting his cheek against Chris’s hair. “And I’m very lucky that you’re the one I’ve gotten to share this experience with. That’s why I suggested we duck out of the after party when we did. I didn’t want to have to share you with anyone else.”

“I didn’t take much convincing. Never been one for big rowdy parties.”

“So you would have gone with anyone who asked, huh? Man, you sure know how to make a guy feel special, Colfer,” Darren chuckles weakly. Much as he might try to pretend otherwise, the comment still stings.

Chris studies Darren’s face for a moment, his expression puzzled. “No, I wanted to spend time with you. I pretty much always want to spend time with you. I’m just waiting for the day you finally get sick of me and decide to move along,” he admits, picking at his cuticles.

Darren’s stunned silent for a moment, just waiting for Chris to meet his gaze. When he won’t, Darren reaches down and tilts Chris’s chin up towards him. “That’s never going to happen, okay? I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the long haul.”

“It won’t be the same, though, once we’re back home and not filming together for a month,” Chris says quietly.

“You’re probably right,” Darren grants, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. “It’ll be different. But different doesn’t necessarily need to mean worse. We’ll still see each other loads.”

Chris doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “Haven’t you ever been to summer camp? Or at a cast wrap party after spending months preparing for a performance? Everyone always promises that they’ll write one another and stay in touch and make time for reunions, but then everyone goes back to their old lives and forgets. It’ll be just like that.”

Darren’s eyes sting with the effort it takes not to let the tears escape. It’s bizarre to hear Chris put his own worst fears into words. It should comfort Darren to know that Chris is every bit as fearful of losing Darren as Darren is of potentially losing him, but somehow, it only makes him more concerned about the future.

Darren knows that if he doesn’t steer the conversation into calmer waters in a hurry, he’s in real danger of visibly crying and betraying his own complicated emotions. He can only imagine how humiliating and difficult to explain that would be. “You’ll have to see me once we’re back home, because a certain someone has a bet to pay off.”

Chris giggles helplessly at that. “I still can’t believe you kissed me. I’d say that’s totally cheating, but I guess I only have myself to blame since I didn’t specifically rule it out.”

“Oh admit it, you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it yourself first!”” Darren teases, poking Chris in the side to drive home the point.

“I happened to think my poem was clever. Pretty sure it took a hell of a lot more effort than your strategy.”

“It was good,” Darren agrees. “And I was dangerously close to busting out laughing, especially with the growth spurt line. But I’ll have you know, a lot of hard work went into that kiss too. I mean, my oral hygiene routine alone took me five or six minutes and then there was lip exfoliation and moisturizing, not to mention-”

“You didn’t kiss like Blaine,” Chris interrupts.

“Last I checked, Blaine was a fictional character, so...” Darren trails off, feeling his face flush hot at the implications behind what Chris is saying.

Chris rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware how acting works, Darren. I’ve kissed you before on camera, though. I know what that kiss felt like. And you were playing Blaine on stage tonight, right? Except that tonight’s kiss felt distinctly different.”

The prickly heat is creeping down Darren’s collar now, and he can only hope that the darkness on the balcony hides his blush from Chris. “Different how?” Darren inquires, trying for casual, though the way his voice cracks likely betrays him.

Chris scrunches up his nose adorably while he ponders the question. “When you kissed me as Blaine, it was gentle and tentative, so I guess this time was just... more? Like you were a man on a mission.”

 _Well, fuck._ Darren sort of wishes the floor would swallow him up at Chris’s comment and the knowledge that his asshole body has betrayed his crush yet again.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Chris manages. “It definitely wasn’t a bad kiss. Quite the opposite in fact.”

Darren should probably quit while he’s ahead, but he can’t resist the temptation to push his luck one more time. “And when you kissed me back, were you kissing me as Kurt?”

Chris bites his lip, staring up at Darren in one of the most charged moments of Darren’s adult life. “No,” he finally confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “That one was all me.”

Darren has no clue how to respond to that, so his belated and not-so-eloquent reply winds up being simply, “Oh.”

Chris nods slowly, seeming dazed as well. “Yeah.”

Darren’s been looking for an opening all night to tell Chris how he feels, and this one is practically big enough to drive an 18-wheeler through, and yet… he’s still just as uncertain, just as terrified of losing his best friend, as he has been all summer.

The silence seems to stretch out for an eternity and Darren can feel the prickly heat creeping down from his flushed cheeks to his neck and chest. He can feel Chris’s wide eyed gaze peering down at him, waiting expectantly. With each millisecond that ticks by, agonizingly slow, it only gets harder for Darren to speak, his mouth dry and his throat blocked by the onslaught of emotions. “It was a good kiss,” he finally manages in a hoarse whisper.

Chris shakes his head. “No, it was a _great_ kiss.”

Darren smiles softly at Chris, eyes shining.

The tip of Chris’s impossibly pink tongue peeks out long enough to wet his lips. His fingers dig into Darren’s bicep, his grip fierce, as if Darren’s arms around him are the only thing anchoring him to the earth. He holds Darren’s gaze, his blue eyes stormy and magnetic. Darren doesn’t think he could look away even if he wanted to, and he really doesn’t want to.

Looking at Chris now, all of his fears and doubts are just background noise, like the hum of cars on the street several stories below them or the light rustling of the wind through the trees. Everything fades into barely distinguishable white noise, save for the galloping thump of Darren’s own heart, loud in his ears as he stares back at Chris. Then, his gaze unconsciously flickers from Chris’s eyes down to his lips, betraying his intention. He waits for Chris to frown or pull back, to give him some sign that their desires aren’t aligned. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking with how much Darren wants Chris in that moment, but he swears that Chris smirks ever so slightly when Darren’s attention is drawn to Chris’s lips again. Darren knows he’s unlikely to ever get a better invitation than that, but he’s still equivocating between the rational part of his mind that points out how much Chris has had to drink and the hypnotic pull that seems to reel Chris in closer and closer, though Darren has no idea who initiated the movement.

Darren’s still sitting there, paralyzed with indecision and fear and doubt, when every bit of air is knocked out of his lungs by the sudden crush of Chris’s lips on his, fierce and intoxicating and so utterly unexpected that it takes Darren several seconds to react.

When he finally does react, it’s all instinct, his lips parting to the sudden but welcome intrusion of Chris’s tongue, firm and insistent and very much in control. If Darren thought kissing Chris onstage was a rush, with the adrenaline and roar of tens of thousands of fans cheering in unison echoing in his ears, it has nothing on now, when it’s _Chris_ who is in charge, _Chris_ who made the conscious decision to kiss Darren after months of daydreaming and wishing and hoping for some small sign.

Chris’s mouth tastes impossibly sweet; rationally, that’s probably from the Irish cream in the drink they've been sharing, along with the remnants of bourbon from earlier, but it’s more than that. It’s Chris he’s tasting, spicy and intoxicating. Nothing compares to the knowledge that this kiss is between the two of them and the two of them _alone_ . It’s not acting, it’s not pretending, it’s not about winning a bet or anything other than Chris wanting to kiss him and Chris having the balls to do what Darren has spent months tip-toeing around. It’s so exhilarating and new and terrifying and about a hundred other adjectives that Darren can’t even put into words that when Darren senses Chris starting to pull back, he can’t help his involuntary whine of protest. Simply put, he hasn’t had enough yet, though Darren’s not sure if he could _ever_ possibly have enough where Chris is concerned.

Despite Darren’s obvious displeasure, Chris still breaks off, but thankfully he doesn’t go far. He presses his forehead to Darren’s as he gulps air like a drowning man given his first taste of oxygen, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

Darren shivers, a full body sensation not entirely triggered by the gentle night breeze, and stubbornly curls his fingers along the line of Chris’s strong jaw, desperately wanting to reel Chris in again for more. “Fuck,” he whispers, his voice so low and hoarse it’s scarcely audible.

Chris licks his lips again and Darren groans at the sight. “So, you…” Darren begins, the rest of the sentence carried off with the wind. Maybe it’s idiotic to want auditory confirmation of what just happened, that Chris just kissed him passionately. But it’s probably stupid and unnecessary when Darren can literally still taste Chris on his lips. If it’s a dream, it’s the realest one he’s ever experienced.

Thankfully, Chris is as preternaturally gifted at reading Darren’s mind as always, so he simply nods his confirmation. “I did.”

Darren’s dumbstruck at how Chris, even at only twenty-one years old, possesses reserves of courage and boldness that Darren fears he never will have. Chris didn’t sit around waiting and obsessing for months on the right words, the right strategy before acting. He just did it. Darren’s grateful for that, but it’s still hard to know where they go from here. “I’m glad you did,” Darren confesses, starting with the easiest admission first.

Chris’s answering grin is pretty damn cocky which only makes Darren want him more. “Well then, maybe I’ll do it again sometime.”

“By sometime, I’m really hoping you mean like, right damn now,” Darren groans.

“Patience is a virtue, Darren,” Chris teases, obviously quite enjoying the opportunity to torture him.

“Perhaps, but it’s not one I’ve ever been any good at,” Darren murmurs, still smoothing his thumb along the line of Chris’s jaw. When Darren’s finger dips to stroke the impossibly soft skin underneath Chris’s ear, Chris shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature outside.

“I could always teach you,” Chris offers. He’s probably aiming for casual but the slight smirk gives him away.

Darren leans in ever so slightly. “Or maybe we could try things my way for a change?”

Chris tilts his head adorably, considering Darren. “What does your way entail?”

“You getting the fuck over here right now,” Darren practically whines, his desperation obvious.

Chris meets Darren halfway, which isn’t saying much since they were practically sitting in each other’s laps to begin with. “Then what?” he hums.

“Then I do this,” Darren whispers against Chris’s lips, tangling his fingers in Chris’s hair and going in for the kill.

The kissing is more prolonged this time and a bit more evenly matched, Darren an equal participant where last time he’d been too stunned to even react until it was nearly over. It very quickly devolves into a full blown make out session, the likes of which Darren probably hasn’t seen since high school. It’s different this time and better too, because there are real feelings on the line and both of them know what they are doing. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way, especially with the noises Chris makes, dear god - Darren could quite possibly do this and only this for the rest of his life and be utterly content. It’s just good and immediate and real, and it feels amazing to finally get out of his head about everything and just let the sensations and emotions and instincts carry him.

Sadly, Darren’s brain is not totally silenced. He has enough wherewithal to realize things can’t go farther tonight without having a real talk which still seems like a bad idea given how much to drink they’ve had. In the morning when they are both clear-headed, they can really discuss what it all means and come to an agreement on relationship boundaries. For tonight, Darren will settle for the kisses and Chris’s warm body cuddled up against his in bed. There’s no need to rush anything, right? They’ve got nothing but time.

But when Darren wakes up in the morning, Chris and his suitcase are gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey man, recovered from your epic jet lag yet?_

_So uh, it would appear that our lil impromptu kiss is getting some media traction. My Twitter mentions are... interesting to say the least. How are yours?_

_(If you haven’t looked yet, maybe don’t. God only knows what you’ll find.)_

_Okay, so I know you said you’d probably do the hermit introvert thing for a week or so once you got back to the States, but I didn’t think you meant that LITERALLY? Or even if you did, I was hoping I'd be the exemption to the rule._

_Also, it’s been 10 days. Which is more than a week, last I checked._

_Are you okay? *taps iPhone* Is this thing on?_

_Are WE okay?_

_Did I do something? Are you mad at me?_

_Is this about the kiss? Was I putting too much pressure on you?_

_Chris, please..._

_Just tell me you’re alright, yeah? Surely you owe me that._

_I wouldn’t think that’s too much to ask of my best friend._

* * *

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Chris Colfer. If you are calling with a media request, please email my publicist. If you have this number for legitimate reasons, you probably know how much I hate the phone, so... why are you calling me again? Texting: it’s the future or something; you should try it. Except for you, Grandma - you can leave all the voicemails you want. Don’t worry, I’m getting enough to eat and making nice friends and going to bed at a reasonable hour.”

Darren sways on the spot, pressing the phone even harder against his ear to make out the sound over the thumping bass of the club he’s just stumbled out of. He’s well past tipsy and officially drunk now, but _god_ , he’s missed hearing Chris’s voice. Even Chris's slightly tinny voicemail recording is enough to make him grin like an idiot. Okay, maybe the tequila has a little something to do with that, too.

Darren startles at the sound of the beep, nearly dropping his phone to the pavement in the process. “Shit fuck, I mean... _hi_ . Hey, Chris. It’s me. The drunken idiot who won’t take a hint, apparently. I just... it’s been over three fucking weeks, man. Where are you? I know you’ve read my text messages. I’ve only sent you about a thousand. Why aren’t you responding? I miss you too like, an alarming amount. And I probably shouldn’t be worried, but you know I'm secretly a worrier deep down and I’m fucking worried right now. I’m worried about you and... _us_ but also just really confused? Whatever is going on, I hope you know you can talk to me about it. If I’ve done something, or even if you just need a little break from... everything, that’s cool. I get it. I’ll live. But could you at least just tell me you’re okay first? Send up a smoke signal? Carrier pigeon? Craigslist ad? Just something. Anything. Please, Chris. I’m begging you.”

Darren could probably babble on for another five minutes, letting his nervous energy and lack of inhibitions carry him through the confession he’s been dancing around with Chris for a few months now, but another beep sounds and lets him know he’s out of time. Darren should probably thank his lucky stars that the good people at Verizon saw fit to cut him off, because he doubts anything else he had to say on the subject would help matters.

Instead, Darren’s forced to hang up the phone with a heavy sigh and even heavier heart.

And while he feels pathetic admitting it even to himself, he calls Chris again before he goes back inside, just to hear his voice one more time.

* * *

Darren awakes the next morning with one shoe still on, a pounding head, and a phone blinking tauntingly at him. He cracks his eyes halfway open, nearly dry heaving as he hazily recalls the message he’d left for Chris the previous night. _Fuck._

Looking at his brightly lit phone screen sends daggers of pain through Darren’s temple, but he pushes through the headache, hoping against hope that his desperation act from last night has borne fruit. To his surprise and utter delight, it has.

_Chris: I’m alive. Happy now?_

Darren nearly drops the phone on his face in shock. He types out a response with clumsy fingers, wondering idly if he’s possibly still drunk from the night before.

_Darren: It’s hard to be happy when I’m currently dying of a hangover, but more importantly HI, YOU’RE ALIVE!!_

_Darren: Where have you been? What’s going on with you, Colfer? Are you okay?_

_Chris: That wasn’t the deal. All you asked for last night was that I tell you I was okay, so... here you go, I’m fine. Verifiably alive, just busy._

_Darren: Yeah no, that’s not good enough. You expect me to believe you’ve been so busy for the last 3.5 weeks that you couldn’t return even one of my approximately 698 texts? Really?_

_Chris: Doesn’t really matter if you believe me or not. What you choose or choose not to believe is a you problem, not a me problem._

_Darren: ???_

_Darren: Are you mad at me? Did I do something to upset you?_

_Chris: No, I just need some space right now, okay?_

_Darren: ...not really? I don’t understand. Everything was fine in Dublin, wasn’t it? Better than fine._

_Chris: Yes, it was fine._

_Darren: So, what happened? What changed?_

_Chris: Nothing and everything. I just needed some time to myself._

_Darren: And now that you’ve gotten your time and space, you’re ready to meet me for brunch and explain everything over mimosas?_

_Chris: No._

_Darren: When am I going to see you?_

_Chris: We still work together, last time I checked. I’ll see you on set._

_Darren: That’s practically forever from now. I want to see you sooner than that._

_Chris: It’s not forever, it’s just 8 days._

_Darren: Well, add that to the 3.5 weeks you’ve been ducking my calls and texts and it feels longer._

_Darren: Can’t we just meet up, please? I’ll come to you. I just want to talk._

_Chris: No. I’m swamped right now._

_Darren: But I could bring you lunch? Or dinner? Or coffee? You’ve got to eat, even when you’re writing._

_Chris: I’m not even in L.A._

_Chris: I’ll see you on set, Darren. I’ve got to go now._

_Darren: Chris… I miss you :(_

His last text is marked as read almost immediately, but Chris never replies.

* * *

Eight lonely days and sleepless nights later, Darren drives onto the Paramount lot, totally lost in thought, almost certain he’s more nervous now than he was his first day on the job. He hadn’t known what he was walking into back then, and in some ways the same is still true today. Sure, he may know where his trailer is located and the names of most of the cast and crew members, but he hasn’t heard so much as a peep from Chris since their stilted text conversation. Nothing weighs more heavily on Darren than silence and uncertainty, and that’s just about the only thing he’s gotten out of Chris since that fateful night they shared in Dublin nearly six weeks earlier.

He’s spent the last week trying to convince himself that once they’re back at work together, maybe he and Chris will be able to pick up right where they left off. That’s all Darren wants: to have his best friend back and maybe get a second chance to initiate the big conversation he’s written and rewritten a thousand times over in his head, the one meant to follow up on what Darren thought was a pretty amazing kiss. It may be a long shot, but at this point, just about any real contact with Chris would surely be a vast improvement over being frozen out for the past month and a half, right?

Darren parks himself right outside the hair and makeup trailer, anxiously anticipating Chris’s arrival. He pretends to thumb through his script and study his lines while he waits, his pulse quickening with each minute that ticks by with no sign of his cast mate. Chris is almost never late for his call time, typically preferring to arrive on set at least thirty minutes early to snag breakfast from craft services and load up on caffeine at a leisurely pace. Chris is easily frazzled when he’s rushed and not much of a morning person either, so he keeps his anxiety at bay by being the first in and out of hair and makeup most days, giving him the freedom to lounge around his trailer writing while everyone else is rushing around like chickens with their heads cut off.

Darren glances at his watch, shocked to see there are only a mere five minutes until Chris’s scheduled call time, and yet there’s still no sign of him. That’s practically unheard of for Chris even on the first day of filming, _especially_ on the first day filming, come to think of it. Darren’s brain automatically starts going to dark places, imagining fiery car crashes, family emergencies, or even just Chris deciding to up and quit so that he can avoid Darren forever.

Before he can work up to a full panic, Darren scans the sound stage one final time. He's relieved to see Chris walking in his general direction, looking amazing as always, dressed casually in a soft blue henley tee and jeans, with not a single hair out of place. Darren debates getting up and walking over to greet Chris before doubling back, but Chris seems thoroughly engrossed in conversation with Lea and Dianna so he decides to wait. After all, if he could survive almost a month and a half without any communication from Chris, surely he can hold on another few minutes.

Darren drinks in the sight of Chris while he can, reveling in the way that seeing Chris with his own two eyes and confirming that he’s okay soothes his jangled nerves. Finally, Chris glances up and catches Darren’s eye. He looks momentarily startled at Darren’s presence and an unreadable expression flickers across his face; just as quickly, the expression is gone and Chris’s face goes stony and he turns back to Lea, saying something to her in a low voice that makes her laugh.

Darren’s still trying to figure out how to initiate one of the many conversations they need to have when Chris arrives at the trailer, where Darren’s still perched on the far side of the stairs. “Hey man!” he calls out, trying for casual, though the slight wobble in Darren’s voice likely gives him away. “Long time no see.”

Chris is suddenly finding something on his phone utterly fascinating because he stares at it and avoids all eye contact with Darren. “Hmm?” he begins distractedly. “Oh hey there, Darren.”

“So, how have y--”

Before Darren can even finish asking Chris how he is, Chris cuts him off mid-word. He makes a big production out of turning his back to Darren and linking arms with Dianna, skillfully guiding the two of them around where Darren is sitting on the stoop. “Okay, you weren’t done telling me your story about Paris. I want the deets! Spill, Agron,” Chris demands loudly as they both side step Darren as if he were a piece of furniture and not a living, breathing human being with feelings. Truth be told, Darren’s feelings are more than a little wounded by Chris’s harsh rejection. Of all the scenarios Darren imagined for their reunion today, being treated like a total stranger by Chris wasn’t one them.

Darren isn’t usually one to give up so easily and today should be no different. He has half a mind to storm into the trailer and corner Chris until he can get some real, concrete answers, but ultimately he hopes his more rational side will prevail. Darren doesn’t think he could handle the sting of another brush-off right now, not when he can still feel the sharp pain of his earlier humiliation.

 _Tomorrow_ , he tells himself. _Tomorrow I’ll be braver, more thick-skinned, and ready to face whatever obstacles are thrown in my path if that's what it takes to get through to Chris._

* * *

Darren doesn’t think he’s ever so keenly experienced the true meaning of _death by a thousand paper cuts_ until he had to live through it at work. Hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute, Darren has to suffer through Chris’s cold shoulders, heavy sighs, eye rolls, stilted greetings, and brushed off invitations. Darren dies all over again each time Chris rejects him, providing a haunting, constant reminder of the best friend he’s lost, yet still has to see five days a week. It’s excruciating, and Darren doesn’t know how much more of this he can possibly bear.

Darren isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry when the script for the fifth episode of season three is dropped off at his trailer after lunch on Friday. Before he even turns a single page, he knows he’s in trouble just by the episode title: _The First Tim_ e. Sure enough, as he idly flips through the pages, he quickly lands on his big part. There, in black and white, it’s all spelled out for him: Kurt and Blaine have a heart to heart by their lockers. Kurt and Blaine let loose on the dance floor of a local gay bar. Kurt and Blaine fight in the parking lot. Kurt and Blaine kiss and make up in the abandoned auditorium, and last but certainly not least, Kurt and Blaine lose their virginity to one another. _Onscreen_.

By Darren’s estimation, he and Chris have a minimum of five scenes to film one on one, scenes that will require kissing, dancing, and close physical quarters. It’s never felt that much like acting for Darren: as Blaine, he has to show he’s falling in love with Kurt, and in real life, Darren is falling in love with Chris. Those feelings haven’t magically vanished with time, and try as Darren might to bottle them up, they are liable to spill out at any moment. So far, Chris has been careful to maintain his professionalism when they step in front of the camera together, though that hasn’t been difficult when they’ve mainly been relegated to shots of them swaying in the background of the choir room. This, though? This will be much different and infinitely more complicated.

Darren takes the script home to read in private over the weekend, parsing out what will be required of him in excruciating detail. He doesn't know how to do this, how not to let his personal feelings for Chris get in the way of what's expected. So instead he just drinks and broods and thinks. Mostly, he just waits with equal parts dread and blind, irrational hope.

* * *

Six days later, Chris and Darren stand side by side while a flurry of hair and makeup staff provide final touch ups. Normally, Chris and Darren would take advantage of the lull in the action to chat with one another about anything under the sun, but tonight the set is so still and quiet you could practically hear a pin drop. It’s been a long, hard day, coming at the end of a long, hard week, and the rest of the cast and all but the most vital crew members have long since been sent home to start their weekends. Darren and Chris just have to film the auditorium resolution scene and the makeup kiss between Blaine and Kurt and then they’ll be home free.

Darren follows the director’s commands on autopilot, stepping to his mark and waiting patiently for Chris to do the same. Then they are left twiddling their thumbs while the crew members in charge of lighting make some slight, painstaking adjustments. Chris keeps glancing over at Darren, their eyes meeting in the middle though neither says a word to one another. Darren’s just bored and sleep deprived enough that he’s weighing possible icebreakers to initiate even some light conversation with Chris when he’s suddenly startled from his idle thoughts but a loud sound.

“Look out!” someone shouts suddenly.

Darren’s head snaps up and he sees a dark blur out of the corner of his eye, way too close for his liking. But the warning comes far too late for him to do anything other than flinch and draw a sharp breath.

The piece of sound equipment falls to the ground with a deafeningly loud bang and even though Darren knows it’s coming, he still jumps again at how loud and close it is. “Jesus,” he breathes. His eyes automatically go to Chris, as they always do when something funny or sad or unexpected happens, wanting to gauge his reaction. Only this time, Chris isn’t where he was standing a moment ago.

Darren’s mind seems to whir into slow motion as he follows the path of the fallen equipment down to the ground, where he finds both Chris and the broken boom in a crumpled heap.

He’s across the small amount of space between them and on his knees at Chris’s side in the blink of an eye.

Chris is lying on his side with his back to Darren, terrifyingly still. Darren pushes the snapped boom out of the way, his hand hovering an inch or two above Chris while he tries to work out the safest way to touch him. It takes him several seconds to catch his breath and summon enough courage to grab Chris’s shoulder and gently roll him back towards Darren enough to see his face.

The second Chris’s head comes into view, Darren’s stomach goes into free fall because all he can see is blood. Quite a lot of blood, actually, already pooling on Chris’s forehead and matting his hair. There’s a deep gash that looks to be at least a few inches long and a huge, welling knot in the center that’s already bruising. It’s _bad_ , definitely the go to the hospital kind of bad and Darren recognizes that almost immediately.

“Chris?” Darren croaks, his voice sounding strained and shaky even to his own ears. There’s no reply, no flicker of recognition from Chris, and Darren is really starting to panic now.

He leans in, hovering over Chris. He’s close enough that he can feel Chris’s slight exhalation of breath against his own cheek, but that’s not nearly as reassuring as Darren needs it to be. With a shaking hand, Darren reaches out and cups the side of Chris’s face, hoping he might get more of a reaction with a hands-on approach. “C’mon Chris, open your eyes,” he tries again. He means it to be a command but it comes out sounding more like begging. He’s desperate and it shows. Still no response.

The only sounds Darren can hear are the whooshing of blood in his own ears as his heart races and Chris’s measured inhales and exhales. It only strikes Darren after the fact that that’s odd, given they are on set with at least two dozen crew members who had to have seen the accident take place. He drags his gaze away from Chris for the first time, lifting his head to visualize the chaos all around him. There are people barking orders into the two-way radios that most of the crew use to communicate with one another on set, though strangely enough, Darren still can’t make out a word they are saying over his own furiously pounding heart. Several people are racing towards where he and Chris are camped out on the ground as well, though Darren would swear they are running in slow-motion given how long it seems to take.

One of those faces finally comes into focus and it belongs to Adam Shankman, their director for this week’s episode. Adam locks eyes with Darren and mouths “is he okay?” Darren feels sick as he helplessly shakes his head no, then turns his attention back to Chris, irrationally hoping that Chris will suddenly sit up and confirm it’s all one big practical joke. Sadly, Chris is every bit as still and silent as he’s been since the moment he got hit.

“Oh my god,” Adam gasps, suddenly on the ground on the opposite side of Chris, looking from Chris’s bleeding forehead to Darren’s face in horror. “Is he...?”

“He won’t wake up,” Darren babbles, not even sure if he’s answering the same question Adam was asking. “I don’t know if - I mean he’s breathing, but... _fuck_ .” He goes to run his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit of his, but he can’t even manage that since his hair is still plastered to his head with the bucket load of gel that being Blaine requires. “I think it’s bad, Adam,” he admits, voice thick. “I heard him get hit and he went down _hard_.”

“I know. I heard it, too. I just don’t know how this happened,” Adam replies, sounding guilty even though Darren knows there’s no way he was directly responsible for the falling boom. “The AD is calling the set medic and an ambulance as we speak, though.”

Darren nods. “God I hope they hurry.” He honestly has no idea how long it’s been since Chris was hurt, since everything still feels like it’s simultaneously happening in slow motion and all one big blur. It seems like it’s been forever, though, and with each passing minute that Chris remains unconscious, Darren’s panic only grows.

Adam doesn’t respond, instead consulting with the first AD in worried, hushed tones that Darren can’t quite make out. Several other crew members join them on the floor, surrounding Chris in a way that’s making even _Darren_ feel claustrophobic, like they are sucking all the oxygen out of the room. He knows it’s the last thing on earth Chris would want, hating for other people to make a fuss over him or ever see him sick or injured. When it comes to his health, Chris is one of the stubbornest people Darren’s ever met, so the fact that he’s unconscious and unable to stand up for himself is awakening a strangely powerful protective instinct in Darren. He doesn’t know how to say, “this isn’t what Chris would want” when Chris is currently unconscious without getting laughed out of the room, though, so he winds up sitting paralyzed with indecision, feeling equal parts guilty and seething with barely disguised frustration.

“Finally, thank you!” Adam exclaims when one of Darren’s favorite production assistants approaches their huddle, passing something to him.

Darren’s more than a little confused when Adam immediately presses the bundle into his hands without explanation. Darren stares down at his hands for a long moment before he realizes he’s now holding two folded white tea towels. He’s about to ask what they're for until he catches a glimpse of Chris’s forehead, where blood has already begun to trickle and ooze down the side of his face. Darren’s always heard that head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but seeing it in person is a lot scarier, given that the bleeding shows no signs of slowing or stopping. As he continues his survey, Darren’s unease only multiplies noting that Chris is somehow a much whiter shade of pale than usual, especially in stark contrast to the crimson blood staining his head. As Darren looks more closely at the wound, he can also tell that the knot at Chris’s temple is still swelling, since the previously grape sized lump is now practically golf-ball size and a rapidly darkening shade of purple. Taken together, it’s enough to make Darren feel sick with worry.

Darren takes one of the towels and places it on his lap, then folds the second towel into fourths and uses it to carefully dab away some of the blood that has trickled down the side of Chris’ face and cheek. Then, he leans over and brushes the matted hair out of the way so he can locate the edges of the gash to Chris’s temple. He thinks back to his first aid courses taken many years prior, first as a Boy Scout and then later when he worked as a lifeguard one summer. Most of the accumulated knowledge has faded with time, but the broad strokes are still with him: things like keeping consistent pressure on wounds to stop or slow the bleeding which is what he intends to do now.

He carefully lays the folded towel over Chris’s forehead and aligns it with the edges of the gash. Then, he takes a deep, steadying breath and places the heel of his hand over the towel to apply firm pressure.

He’s not expecting any reaction to it, because Chris has been deadly still and unresponsive since the accident. That’s why it comes as such a shock when the moment he applies pressure to the head wound, Chris whimpers quietly. Darren’s breath catches in his throat as his eyes fly to Chris’s face, wondering if he’s imagining it. Just when he’s about to give up hope, he sees Chris’s eyebrows drawn down with pain ever so slightly. He’s equal parts relieved and terrified by that. He doesn’t like hurting anyone, but it’s _Chris_ and having to hurt Chris, even if it’s ultimately to help him in the long run, makes him feel sick.

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees the crew start to take notice of Chris coming around and crowd in even closer. Between the well-meaning but claustrophobic press of people and the way Darren’s heart won’t stop pounding, he’s starting to feel he himself is going to suffocate before the ambulance can even get there to help Chris.

He tries to push the thought out of his mind for the moment, blocking out anything that isn’t Chris. Instead, he reaches out with his free hand to tentatively cup his best friend’s cheek. “Chris?” he calls, holding his breath while he waits for any flicker of recognition.

There’s a long, uneasy silence but then Chris moans, softly but unmistakably. “That’s it,” Darren encourages, gliding his thumb along Chris’s cheekbone. “Open your eyes for me, okay?”

Darren watches Chris’s eyes flutter beneath his closed eyelids, trying to follow his commands. He’s not successful in opening his eyes, at least not yet, but just knowing that Chris can hear and understand him is enough to make Darren practically giddy.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and continues his entreaties to rouse Chris to consciousness. “I need you to look at me, Chris. C’mon, you can do it.”

There’s a moment of tense silence before Chris inhales sharply and drags his eyes open halfway, grimacing at the bright lights overhead.

“Hey there,” Darren breathes, unmistakably relieved to see any signs of consciousness, even though he hates the idea of Chris in pain.

Darren watches Chris blink heavily several times, struggling to focus on the face in front of him. “Darren?” he hiccups out after a second, his voice so soft and pained that Darren can barely make it out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Darren answers immediately, wiping away a few panicky tears that have fallen to Chris’s cheeks. “I’m here.”

Darren’s desperately searching for better words of reassurance, because he can tell Chris is balancing on the precipice of full blown panic, but he can’t seem to find any to calm Chris’s worries or his own.

Chris winces and gasps a little, lifting a shaking hand towards his forehead. “My head,” he moans.

“I know, honey. I know it hurts,” Darren soothes, brushing a lock of hair off Chris’s forehead and tucking it behind his ear. “We’re going to get you some help soon. Just hang on.”

Chris frowns as he looks around the room for the first time, eyes darting wildly from the lighting rig overhead to the half dozen crew members surrounding them. He starts to hyperventilate and then suddenly makes a vain attempt to sit up, obviously confused and panicking. Chris doesn’t make it very far before there are a chorus of voices telling him not to move and four or five pairs of hands pinning him back down against the ground. What little color is left in Chris’s cheeks drains out of him as he sinks back, his eyes welling with tears of pain and confusion. It’s enough to overwhelm even Darren, so he can’t begin to imagine how scary and disorienting it must be for Chris.

“Easy, Chris,” Darren murmurs softly, cupping his cheek. “You’ve got to lay still, okay? Don’t try to get up.”

Chris swallows thickly, his eyes shut against the pain. “Why?” he asks in a wavering voice.

Darren decides to keep the answer simple for now, lest he scare Chris more than he already is. “Because you’re hurt, and the medics need to check you out before you try to move. They should be here soon, though. You’re going to be just fine.”

Chris blinks up at him through watery, exhausted eyes, all pretense gone. It feels like the first time Chris has really _seen_ Darren, and not just since the accident but possibly since they left Dublin. “Promise?” he whispers.

Darren is nodding before he can even get the words out. “I swear,” he vows, eyes burning bright with how much he means every word, how much he wants to hold fast to this tenuous connection with Chris.

Chris draws a shaky breath, biting his lip as he fights back tears. Darren watches Chris struggle to piece himself back together despite his palpable misery and marvels all over again at just how strong Chris is, possessing reserves of courage and bravery that Darren knows he’ll never match.

The silence feels oppressive as they wait for the ambulance, the collective breath of everyone in the room held in suspension together. Darren wants to keep Chris talking to him, keep him conscious and engaged, but it feels like a weirdly intimate activity to attempt with an audience.

“Too many…” Chris suddenly says before he trails off, sniffling pitifully.

“Too many what, honey?” Darren prods, wondering if Chris is not making sense due to the likely concussion or if he’s just not listening close enough.

“Too many people,” Chris manages, looking pointedly to the crowd of crew members surrounding them.

“Oh,” Darren hums in recognition, feeling weirdly vindicated that his earlier predictions were proven correct. “Sure, we can--”

“No,” Chris interrupts frantically. He reaches out, blindly gripping a handful of Darren’s pants in his fist. “You stay. _Please?_ ”

It’s the first time in months that Chris has actively sought out his presence; despite the horrible circumstances, Darren’s undeniably relieved. “Of course I’ll stay,” he promises, carding his fingers through Chris’s hair in calming rhythm.

Next, Darren looks to Adam meaningfully, hoping he’ll take the lead on clearing the set for Chris. Adam nods and pats his shoulder, before announcing, “I’m going to check on the ambulance and make sure there’s someone up front to escort them to the correct sound stage. Hang in there, Chris.”

Chris can’t muster more than a weak nod of his head in reply, wincing at the pain even that tiny movement triggers. Darren thumbs away the moisture gathering on Chris’s cheeks while the remaining crew disperses quickly and surprisingly quietly.

Within minutes, the entire set is mostly clear, save for Adam, Joaquin, and Darren’s favorite production assistant, Kim, who are gathered in a loose huddle near the exit, consulting with one another and a two-way radio in low, serious tones Darren can’t quite make out. Being alone with Chris should feel like a relief, since all the pointed glances and claustrophobic press of people surrounding them had only served to highlight Darren’s anxiety and Chris’s misery, but somehow it’s not. The responsibility for keeping Chris calm settles over Darren like a weight, and he’s terrified he’s not up to the task. However, the only thing that seems worse than fumbling through being there for Chris when he needs him most, when Chris has actually requested his presence for the first time in months, is not being there at all.

Darren fusses with the towel that he’s still holding to Chris’s bleeding forehead, then leans in to cup Chris’s cheek. “Okay, the set’s clear now, Chris. Better?”

“Don’t know,” Chris sighs, forehead furrowing in concentration. He reaches up with a shaking hand and rests it atop where Darren is applying pressure, his fingers curling around Darren’s own.

Darren’s not entirely sure what Chris is doing, so he figures he might as well just ask. “What’s wrong, Chris? You okay?”

“Not really,” Chris admits in a wobbly voice, his hand trembling in Darren’s grasp. “Is it..” he trails off, swallowing thickly as he searches for the word. “There’s blood?” he finally asks clumsily.

Darren’s half tempted to lie to Chris, but now seems like a bad time to start. “Yes, your head is bleeding.”

“A lot?” Chris presses.

“Well, uh, it was before?” Darren admits. “That’s why I’ve got the towel, to hopefully help stop the bleeding.”

“Hurts,” Chris murmurs, mouth twisting to one side as he tries to stifle a sob.

The helplessness hits Darren right in the gut this time, twisting hot and making him feel sick with how much he just wants to do something, anything concrete to help. “I'm sure it does. Anything I can I do, sweetheart?”

“Um,” Chris sniffles, closing his eyes for a moment while he considers. Darren can tell Chris is crying now, though he still tries to hide it; he’s pretty sure if someone doesn’t arrive to tend to Chris soon, he may actually crawl out of his skin. Finally, Chris manages to choke out a reply. “Hold my hand?” he requests, blinking up at Darren with watery, pleading eyes.

It’s a small thing, a simple request, really, though to Darren it feels huge. “Of course I will,” Darren breathes. He reaches up and carefully pries Chris’s hand away from his head wound and tangles their fingers together before resting their intertwined hands at Chris’s side.

“Okay?” he checks once they are repositioned, giving Chris’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris whispers, heavy lidded eyes falling shut again. “What happened?”

“To your head, you mean?” Darren confirms.

Chris gives me the tiniest of nods and a muted grunt, his face still a tight mask of pain.

Darren frowns, his jumbled thoughts blurring together with worry. “You don’t remember?” he presses, since that seems like a bad sign.

He realizes almost immediately what a dumb thing it is to say when Chris starts to panic. “No, I can’t - I don’t, I’m--” Chris struggles to explain.

“Hey, no no, shh,” Darren interjects, wanting to reassure Chris. “That’s okay. You were knocked unconscious for a little while, so it’s normal not to remember. Just take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

Chris bites his lip, studying Darren’s face for a moment before he exhales a shaky breath and slowly inhales again.

“There you go. That’s better,” Darren encourages, trying to come up with the simplest way to explain the accident without causing Chris any additional fear or trauma. “Basically, a piece of sound equipment fell and you got hit on the head and blacked out for a few minutes.”

“Oh,” is the only response Chris can muster, wincing again.

Darren waits for Chris to say more, but he seems to be fighting a losing battle with keeping his eyes open instead. Uneasy with the silence, Darren adds, “Adam called an ambulance when you first got knocked out, so I’m sure they’ll be here any minute now.”

“Okay,” Chris sighs, his grip on Darren’s hand weakening.

Darren’s stomach is a tight knot of tension, because while he hates seeing Chris suffering and in pain, he’s also not comfortable with him slipping into unconsciousness again. But that definitely seems to be where they are heading, since Darren can literally see the fight draining out of Chris little by little. “Hey Chris, can you look at me?”

Chris shakes his head minutely.

“Why not?” Darren presses.

“Too bright - light hurts,” Chris grits out.

That worries Darren, because he vaguely remembers something about sensitivity to light being a warning sign of concussion. “Okay, how about you talk to me, then?”

“Darren,” Chris whines, face contorting into a grimace. “Don’t wanna, my head is killing.”

“Listen, I know you’re in a lot of pain, but you just have to stay with me a little longer, deal?” Darren tries to encourage.

Chris whimpers, a single tear escaping. Darren tenderly wipes it away with the back of his hand, hating that he has to prolong Chris’s misery, even if it is in service of helping. “I’m sorry,” Darren whispers. “We’re going to get you help soon, I swear.”

“I have to go to the hospital?” Chris mumbles, his words starting to run together due to exhaustion.

“I think so, yeah,” Darren confirms.

“Don’t like hospitals.”

“I know you don’t, honey,” he sighs, thinking back to their numerous conversations about this very topic. Chris had shared how the vast majority of his childhood was spent in various hospital rooms with his parents and sister, how books were his only escape from the stressful hospital environment and Hannah's seizures. Darren gets why the hospital is the last place on earth Chris wants to go now, but Darren also sees the urgent necessity of it.

“Because I need stitches?” Chris asks suddenly, still sniffling pitifully.

Darren frowns at the non sequitur, momentarily lost. “Huh?”

“I have to go to the hospital for stitches?” Chris clarifies.

“Oh, I gotcha. And yes, you probably need stitches in your forehead, but you also need to be checked out just generally since you lost consciousness for a while.”

“How long was I out?”

“Uh, I’m not entirely sure… maybe five minutes?” Darren estimates, taking a wild stab in the dark. He wants to say forever, because that's what it felt like at the time. That's probably not a great strategy for helping Chris calm, however.

Chris grimaces, shifting his body slightly towards Darren. "Is that bad?"

Darren has no clue how to answer that, so he leans on the truth. "I don't know, honestly. That's what the medical professionals are for. But they'll take good care of you."

“Don't want them," Chris grits out. "Just want you. Will you come?”

Darren's stunned silent for a minute, hardly able to believe Chris is actively asking for him. “To the hospital, you mean?"

“No, no," Chris sighs, fingers digging into Darren's hand with bruising strength. "Will you ride in the ambulance with me?”

Darren has no idea if that's technically allowed, but if it isn't fuck that, they're going to make an exception for Chris. "Yeah, of course I will. I’ll be with you the whole time, for as long as you want me there, okay?"

Chris cracks his eyes open to fix Darren with a determined, searching gaze. After a moment, he nods weakly and murmurs, "okay." Chris's eyes fall shut again with a muted moan, spilling more tears to his cheeks. 

"Just hang in there, Chris," Darren babbles, desperate to soothe his pain. "Not much longer."

"It  _hurts_ ," Chris whimpers. That scares the shit out of Darren, frankly, because Chris _never_ complains. He's been the suffer in silence type of guy for as long as Darren's known him. If Chris is voluntarily admitting that something hurts that badly, he must be in utter agony.

“I know, Chris. I wish I could fix it for you," Darren says helplessly. He looks down at their intertwined hands, shifting so he can lace their fingers together. "Are you hurting anywhere else?"

To be perfectly honest, he's not really expecting the answer to be yes; he just figures that keeping Chris talking to him is a good way to distract him from the pain and more importantly, to make sure he doesn’t black out again. That’s why his stomach sinks when Chris immediately nods and says, “My side.”

“Your side hurts?” Darren checks, hand carefully prodding along his left side. “Here?”

“No, other side,” Chris says with a grimace.

Chris’s button down shirt is tucked into a pair of the practically painted on wardrobe pants they always put Kurt in, so Darren can’t easily visualize the damage. His fingers hover at the waistband of the pants, weirdly shy even in this emergency situation. Apparently, all it takes is a stupid crush to make him start questioning even the most mundane, innocent activities. “Is it okay if I take a look?” he asks tentatively.

Chris finally opens his eyes and looks up at Darren, swallowing hard. At first Darren’s not even sure if Chris heard him, but after a moment, he nods weakly and replies, “Sure.”

Darren’s own fingers feel foreign and clumsy as he untucks Chris’s shirt and unbuttons the bottom few buttons of his patterned shirt. He takes a deep breath and pulls up Chris’s shirt looking for... _something_ , even if he’s honestly not sure what that something is. Darren assumes he’ll know it when he sees it.

When Darren pushes up Chris’s shirt a little farther, he finally finds a large, rapidly darkening bruise across Chris’s ribs that makes him wince. “Ouch,” he murmurs sympathetically as he studies the area more closely, obviously a result of where Chris hit the ground when he was knocked unconscious. He gently runs one finger across the bruised swath of skin, jerking away guiltily when Chris quietly keens at his touch.

“Shit. I'm so sorry, Chris,” he apologizes. “That’s where it hurts?”

“Yeah, owwww,” Chris groans.

Darren nods and carefully slides Chris’s shirt back down over his skin. When he finishes and glances back up at Chris’s face once more, he's sickened by the sight of fresh tears glittering on Chris's cheeks. He hates causing Chris pain, though he knows it can’t always be avoided in circumstances like these.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, thumb brushing away the moisture. “Are you okay?” It’s a dumb question and Darren knows it, but he isn’t sure what else to say or do anymore.

“Not really,” Chris admits, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "It hurts to breathe."

Darren strokes Chris’s cheek, racking his brain for anything that might help. “What can I do?”

Chris squeezes Darren's hand tightly and draw a shaky breath. "Just stay."

"I will," Darren vows. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

It's a promise that Darren intends to keep, come hell or high water.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the technical difficulties in getting the rest of this story posted. You can blame Windows 10 and its penchant for automatic updates that break everything (like my entire laptop) for the delay. Thank you for your patience and giant hugs to everyone who took the time to comment on the first three chapters. If you want to leave a comment to let me know what you think of the rest, I'll love you forever <3

Darren feels like his prayers have finally been answered when he hears the wail of sirens at last. He looks expectantly towards the door to the sound stage, practically crying with relief when the doors burst open and two young medics rush in, pushing a gurney between them.

“Chris, hey, help is here. The medics are walking over to us right now,” Darren announces, grateful to finally have good news to report.

“I can sleep now?” Chris slurs. Darren’s spent the better part of the last five minutes flailing wildly and babbling about anything under the sun to try to keep Chris conscious and responsive. It’s a particularly thankless task, but Darren is terrified of Chris blacking out again so he has to try.

“No, not just yet. Let’s let them talk to you first and tell you what they need you to do, okay?”

“So tired,” Chris moans.

“I know you are,” Darren sighs. “But once you get to the hospital, I’m sure you can rest.”

Chris exhales a shaky breath. “You’ll stay?”

Darren squeezes Chris’s hand reassuringly. “Of course. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

A young woman in a medic’s uniform with long red hair tied back in a ponytail kneels down beside Chris on the floor, setting a large black bag full of medical equipment beside her. “Hi guys,” she greets them in a calm voice that immediately puts Darren at ease, “I’m Abby. Can you tell me your names?”

“I’m Darren,” he replies. “And this is Chris,” he adds, inclining his head in the direction of his best friend’s prone form.

“Good to meet you,” Abby continues while pulling a pair of thin medical gloves out of her bag and putting them on one at a time. “Chris, are you allergic to latex?” she asks before she reaches for him.

Chris manages to shake his head no minutely, then inhales sharply at the flare of pain the movement causes.

“Great,” she responds. “I’m just going to do a quick exam before we get you loaded up and take you to the hospital, okay sweetie?”

Chris can't seem to muster the energy to acknowledge her this time. She frowns slightly as she removes a penlight from her bag and leans forward so she’s directly hovering over him. “Chris, can you open your eyes for me?”

Chris grumbles under his breath but somehow pries his eyes open. “Okay, I want you to stare straight up at the ceiling instead of looking at me,” she explains then clicks the button to activate the light before shining it directly into Chris’s eyes. He whimpers and visibly recoils at the brightness, eyes squeezing shut again.

“Does the light make your head hurt more?” Abby asks gently. Chris gives a miserable nod.

“Sorry, but I need you to open them one more time for me. It’ll only take a second,” Abby coaxes. This time when Chris drags his eyes open, she cups the side of his face to hold him still, with fingers on either side of his left eye to prevent him from closing it while she passes the light in front of his pupil several times, earning further muffled cries of pain from Chris. After a moment, she moves slightly to repeat the same series of steps with Chris’s right eye, much to his chagrin. He grips Darren’s hand with bruising strength throughout the ordeal, as if Darren’s hand is the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Good, Chris. I’m done torturing you for now, so you can close your eyes again if you want,” Abby announces sympathetically as she drops the small, silver penlight back into her bag. She turns to her partner who is standing behind her next to the gurney, telling him, “Pupils equal but sluggishly reactive. Do you want to take his vitals while I examine his head wound? Unless his BP is really low, I think we can probably wait to start an IV until we’re en route, Jeff.”

Darren puzzles over what the medics are saying, trying to discern some hidden meaning, but it’s hard when they speak almost exclusively in medical jargon and acronyms. It’s probably for the best, though, because if he can ‘t understand what they are saying, then neither can Chris most likely. The last thing he wants is for Chris to panic any more than he already is.

The second medic, a slightly older man who looks to be in his late thirties, kneels down next to Abby. She scoots forward towards Chris’s head to give her partner more room to work. Darren watches the male paramedic quickly clip a pulse oximeter to Chris’s index finger and wrap a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

Darren’s so distracted with what the medics are doing that he jumps a mile when someone claps a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Adam squatting down behind him and exhales in a rush, trying to catch his breath after being startled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Adam apologizes, regarding the medics treating Chris with a mixture of concern and relief. His expression is remarkably similar to how Darren currently feels at the moment.

“It’s fine, I’m just a little jumpy at the moment,” Darren manages.

“Can’t say I blame you. What’s the verdict?”

Darren leans towards Adam a little more, though he’s careful not to lose his grip on Chris’s hand. “On Chris, you mean? I don’t think we know anything definitive. I assume it’ll take more tests before we have a diagnosis.

“But he definitely needs to go to the hospital?” Adam clarifies, not seeming all that surprised.

“Yeah, the paramedics already mentioned loading him up. I think they’re just trying to check him out real quick first,” Darren whispers. He feels Chris's hand suddenly crush into his and glances back to see the female medic lifting the edge of the towel he’s been holding to Chris’s forehead this whole time.

“Is this where Chris was hit?” she asks.

Darren nods. “Yeah, I’ve been keeping pressure over where it’s bleeding. Do you need me to move my hand?”

“No, just give me one second first,” she requests as she reaches into her bag and begins retrieving several wrapped gauze pads.

Darren signals his acknowledgment to her, then turns back to Adam. “I’m going to ride with him to the hospital. I feel like somebody should probably stay with him and he asked me to go, so...”

“Absolutely,” Adam agrees. “You just tell me what you need from me.”

“I...” Darren trails off, trying to think. It’s hard to concentrate through the fog of worry and adrenaline, not to mention the fact that he’s not exactly experienced with crisis situations. “Can you send someone to grab his bag? Because I assume the hospital is going to want his ID and health insurance card once we get there. Also, I left my wallet and bag in my trailer, because it’s not like I can fit anything in the pockets of my tight as fuck Blaine pants,” he continues, gesturing to the cropped trousers he’s wearing that may as well be painted on.

Adam nods understandingly. “I guess we should also let someone on the lot know that Chris and I are going to be leaving our cars here, because eventually I’ll need to come back and pick them up, right? Or send someone else to do it depending on what happens, I mean shit, I don’t even know how long we’ll be there...” Darren trails off, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at the thought of being left all alone with Chris at the hospital to cope with whatever happens next. It feels like a huge responsibility and while he definitely wants to be there for Chris, what if he's not up to the task? He can’t help but wonder if someone else might be better equipped to handle the situation than him.

Adam puts a calming hand on Darren’s shoulder. “Look, how about this: I’ll send Kim to both of your trailers to gather your things and then get her to meet you at the hospital, okay? That way you’ll have someone else to fill out all the forms and deal with the SAG insurance crap, so you can just stay with Chris. It also means there will be someone with a car to take you home whenever you’re ready to go or ideally when both of you are ready if they're able to release him tonight."

Before Darren can reply to Adam, Abby taps the hand he has covering Chris’s bleeding forehead, saying, “Okay, can you move your hand now and let me see his head?”

Darren pulls his hand back from Chris’s forehead, leaving the towels in place. Abby carefully peels them back, and Chris quietly keens as the bottom towel sticks to the center of the wound and the medic has to tug at his skin to get it free.

“Shh, I know it hurts,” Darren soothes, taking advantage of having a hand free again to resume stroking Chris’s hair.

“Do you want me to meet you at the hospital myself?” Adam offers, reminding Darren of their briefly interrupted conversation. “I really don’t mind, especially since I feel like this is at least partially my fault.” 

Darren furrows his brow in confusion. "How is it your fault? I thought it was an accident?"

"The boom falling was an accident. But if not for me, there would have been a medic on set to take care of Chris immediately. The studio didn't want to pay them overtime, though, and I was trying to keep this episode under budget so I didn't argue," Adam sighs, looking stricken.

Maybe it's petty or irrational, but Darren is pretty pissed at this revelation because sacrificing the safety of his friends and fellow cast members for the bottom line is a pretty craven move. It doesn't surprise him that the studio made that call, but it seems out of character for Adam to agree to it. Still, there was no way Adam could have known that this would happen; it was just one hell of coincidence and shitty timing. 

Darren shakes his head ruefully. "You couldn't have known, Adam. None of us did."

"Maybe not," Adam demurs, "but i still feel horrible about it and I want to do whatever I can to help. So, do you want me to meet you at the hospital?" 

Darren considers it for a moment. There’s a part of him that might feel reassured by knowing that there's another adult, a _real_ adult, to provide back up if things with Chris get serious. Apparently all it takes is a medical emergency to leave Darren feeling like a frightened, ill-prepared child.

While Darren mulls over Adam’s offer, he looks at Chris again. His face is a tight mask of pain and he’s paler than Darren has ever seen him before. It reminds Darren of their earlier conversation, when Chris’s first and biggest request had been wanting privacy, obviously uncomfortable with even the crew he knows fairly well seeing him in pain or crying. Viewed in that light, asking Adam to come to the hospital feels selfish, as it would be more about Darren’s own reassurance than what Chris wants or needs.

“No, I think sending a PA to meet us at the hospital should be good enough for now,” Darren finally tells Adam. “If things get dicey once we get there, I’ll let you know.”

“Of course, I’ll definitely be checking in with you guys either way,” Adam agrees. “Okay, let me go find Kim before she leaves the set and ask her to grab all your stuff.” And with one last pat on the back for Darren, Adam’s hurrying off again.

As soon as Adam leaves, Darren’s full attention shifts back to Chris, watching with a mixture of concern and sick fascination as Abby methodically prods at the edges of the gash to Chris’s temple and slides her fingers over the giant knot. It seems impossible for it to look even worse than earlier, but somehow it does. Chris’s fingers curl around Darren’s hand; he squeezes back and brushes away the tears that spill onto Chris’s cheek. “You’re doing great, just hang on,” he whispers.

Abby layers several gauze bandages over Chris’s bleeding forehead and then sets about affixing them in place by winding a length of pressure dressing around his head. “Okay, hopefully that will hold until we get him to the hospital,” she says after a minute, admiring her own handiwork. “Mind if I ask you two a few questions while my partner finishes up?” she asks, looking from Chris to Darren.

“Of course not,” Darren answers for both of them.

“Did he lose consciousness at all?”

Darren sighs heavily. “Yeah, he was out for a few minutes right after he got hit. He’s been kind of in and out since then.”

“About how long was he out?”

Darren racks his brain, trying to estimate. It had felt like forever at the time given how worried Darren was, but in reality he doubts it was more than a few minutes. “Five minutes?” he guesses. “Or maybe even a little less than that.”

“Has he been complaining of pain anywhere else?”

“His right side. He’s got a big bruise where he fell. He went down pretty hard.”

“Any chance he could have hurt his neck or back as well?” Abby presses.

“I... don’t think so, but I guess it’s technically possible?” Darren shrugs helplessly. “I only saw the boom fall out of the corner of my eye and then when I turned to see what happened, Chris was already on the ground.”

“Did you move him at all?”

Darren shakes his head. “No, once I saw how bad his head wound was, I told him he should lay still until you guys got here. He tried to sit up once, but I was able to stop him before he did.”

“That was very smart of you,” Abby says gratefully. “Has he moved his arms or legs at all? I just want to be sure there’s not any numbness or tingling or weakness in his extremities we need to be aware of.”

Darren tries to think back. “He’s definitely moved his arms a lot. And right after he first got hit by the boom, he curled his legs up when he rolled to his side, I think?”

Abby turns to her partner. “Jeff, we should probably put a collar on him just to be safe.”

“Alright, now I’ve got a few questions for you, Chris,” she announces. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“Yeah,” Chris grits out.

“Nauseous?”

“That too.”

“Have you thrown up since the head injury?”

Darren shakes his head no for both of them.

“Blurred vision?” Abby asks Chris. He nods weakly.

“Sensitivity to light?”

“He definitely has that,” Darren interjects before Chris can even answer.

“Got it,” Abby says, obviously at the end of her mental checklist. “Okay, that’s all I need to know for the moment. So, here’s what’s going to happen now. Chris, I’m going to put a plastic collar around your neck to hold your head still while we move you onto the gurney. Then once we get you to the ambulance, we’re going to start an IV and give you a little oxygen just to make sure you’re breathing okay and take a look at your side. I promise my partner and I are going to take really good care of you. Any questions?”

Chris’s eyes flutter open and lock with Darren’s, giving him a pleading look. It takes Darren a moment to connect the glance to what Chris is worrying about. “Oh, he wants me to ride with him in the ambulance. That’s okay, right?”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Darren,” Chris whispers, tugging on his hand.

“Hmm?” Darren responds, bending down so he can make out what Chris is saying.

“You can stay?” Chris checks. Darren frowns when he realizes Chris is blinking rapidly but barely seems to be succeeding at keeping his eyes open despite the effort.

“Yes, Abby said I can ride with you in the ambulance. Don’t worry, Chris.”

Chris squeezes his hand weakly. “Gonna sleep now, then.”

“No, I don’t think you are supposed to do that, honey,” Darren chastens. “Hang on, let me ask.”

He squeezes Chris’s hand hard, hoping to keep him conscious while he turns to Abby. “Chris keeps telling me he wants to sleep, but... that’s bad, right? Doesn’t he need to stay awake?”

Abby and her partner exchange a loaded glance and then she’s reaching into her black bag and retrieving the penlight once more. “Chris,” she says loudly as she flashes the light in his face until he groans and tries to turn his head away from the bright glare. Before he can move, Abby is stabilizing his head and neck with her hand.

“Listen, we need you to stay awake until we get you to the hospital. Just keep your eyes open and keep talking to us, okay?” Abby continues.

Chris whimpers, eyes immediately searching out Darren. “So tired,” he whines.

“I know you are,” Darren sighs, feeling guilty for being the one to constantly have to shake Chris awake, even though he knows that it’s ultimately for his benefit.

“Hey Chris,” Abby calls out, “I need you to keep your head still for me, alright? We don’t want you moving it just in case you might have hurt your neck when you fell.”

She looks over her shoulder at her partner. “Jeff, can you grab me the cervical collar now?” Abby requests.

He nods and retrieves it from the gurney, passing it over to Abby.

Abby take it and then shifts her gaze to Darren momentarily. “Can I get you to help me with one thing really quick?” she asks him.

“Sure,” Darren nods, eager to anything to do anything that might help Chris get to the hospital more rapidly, since it feels like it’s been _hours_ since the sound equipment first fell and injured him.

“I need you to come up here,” Abby explains, pointing to Chris’s head. “I’m going to have you kneel behind him and hold his head still while we get the collar in place.”

Darren takes a deep, steadying breath and releases his hold on Chris’s hand momentarily, so he can reposition himself as Abby is directing. The second Darren begins to pull away, Chris’s eyes fly open and he flails as he wraps his fingertips around Darren’s wrist and digs in, his grip fierce and bruising. “Wait, please,” he practically begs, eyes darting about as he tries to make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m not leaving, Chris. I swear. Look, I’m just moving up out of the way for a second so the medics have room to work,” Darren soothes. Jeff quickly maneuvers around to where Darren is kneeling and gently unwinds Chris’s fingers from Darren’s wrist to release him.

Chris’s eyes are still wild with panic as Darren moves behind him. Wanting to reassure him, he leans in and cards his fingers through Chris’s hair, whispering, “I’m still here. Shh, just breathe, this will only take a second.”

Chris’s body begins to still at Darren’s words in combination with the soothing touch, though Darren can see a few panicked tears tracking down Chris’s cheeks. It’s hard not to feel guilty that he’s not doing enough for Chris, that he’s failing to comfort and reassure him. For now, it seems like the best thing for Chris is getting him to the hospital as soon as possible, so Darren takes a deep, calming breath and follows Abby’s instructions for stabilizing Chris’s head and neck.

Darren winds up with one hand on either side of Chris’s jaw, cradling Chris’s face with both hands while his forearms holds Chris’s head steady. The position is kind of awkward, leaving Darren no choice but to hover over Chris. He takes advantage of the closeness to whisper a stream of encouragements in Chris’s ear, which seems to help offset Chris’s obvious fear and discomfort at having two paramedics poke and prod at him.

“Okay, all set,” Abby announces as soon as the cervical collar is in place.

“I can let go now?” Darren checks before he releases his grasp on Chris’s head.

She nods quickly, then goes back to conferring with her partner.

Darren breathes a sigh of relief as he slides back to his previous position at Chris’s side. He winces in sympathy at the bulky collar, leaning in a little so he’s in Chris’s direct line of sight again since Chris can no longer turn his head.

“Hey, you still hanging in there?”

Chris blinks slowly up at Darren, his eyes cloudy and glazed over with pain. “Not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

Chris gives him a look that says “really?” every bit as well as words could.

Darren lets out a tiny huff of laughter.. “Okay, fair enough. Is anything _new_ wrong is what I actually meant...”

“Not really a fan of my new accessory,” Chris admits. “It’s claustrophobic, and I don’t like not being able to turn my head to see you.”

“I’m sorry,” Darren apologizes, even though he knows it’s not his fault that Chris is so miserable. “Anything I can do?”

Chris reaches out blindly, his fingers connecting with Darren’s sleeve. Darren takes his hand without hesitation and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, just that for now,” he replies, then lets his eyes fall shut with a pained grunt.

“I think I can handle that,” Darren promises, carding his fingers through Chris’s hair.

* * *

 After feeling like the entire world was moving in slow motion from the moment Chris got injured, things suddenly start to happen very quickly and almost right on top of one another. The paramedics get Chris strapped to a backboard and into the waiting ambulance in a matter of minutes. On the ride to the hospital, they do a more thorough exam, start an IV, hook him up to portable monitors, and Darren… mostly just tries to stay out of the way. He’s glad that the paramedics let him ride along with Chris in the back because Chris refuses to let go of his hand, and none of them are interested in wasting the time that would be required to pry them apart.

Darren’s grateful for that, but his gratitude has got nothing on Chris’s. It’s strange, because Chris has never been clingy with anyone in the year plus that Darren has known him. Plus, after the daily slights and rejections over the last few months, it's obvious that Darren has become persona non grata to Chris. He’s not complaining about Chris's sudden desire for his presence, because all he wants is for Chris to be okay; he’s thankful that Chris wants him there now, but he’s still pretty damn confused by the rapid shift in Chris’s mood and circumstance.

Even with Darren’s presence, the ride to the hospital is pretty damn miserable for Chris. For starters, it turns out that being strapped to a backboard while wearing a hard plastic cervical collar is not exactly the most comfortable way to travel, and it’s made even more claustrophobic by the oxygen mask they add soon after. Darren hates how helpless he feels, because all he can really do is hold Chris’s hand, wipe away the tears that stream down his cheeks, and murmur the same reassurances over and over again. Reassurances Darren isn’t even sure he’s qualified to make: _I’m here, not much longer, we’re going to take good care of you,_ and lastly _, you’re going to be okay._

There’s one question that Darren can’t stop asking himself, however. When all is said and done, will he and Chris be okay again? Going back to what they were before will break him, he knows that already beyond any shadow of a doubt. He should probably take a step back, find a way to temper his hopes and expectations somehow, but he simply can’t. Chris needs him now and he’ll sacrifice just about anything to make sure that Chris is okay again, even his own sanity. Darren just hopes it won’t come to that.

* * *

From the moment Chris’s gurney is pushed into a waiting treatment room in the emergency department, controlled chaos reigns. Several nurses and a relatively young-looking physician take over guiding the stretcher, quickly transferring Chris from the paramedic’s gurney to one of their own hospital beds. It’s a dizzyingly choreographed display, leaving even _Darren_ overwhelmed, confused, and struggling to keep up.

As soon as Chris is settled in the hospital bed in the center of the room, Abby begins rattling off a list of vital signs and medical jargon with grim efficiency. Darren quickly gives up on trying to translate and comprehend what they are saying about Chris’s condition. Instead, he ignores the medical professionals in favor of leaning over the bed railing to stroke Chris’s cheek reassuringly.

Chris’s eyes are tightly squeezed shut and his skin looks gray under the bright florescent lights overhead. Blood is beginning to seep through the center of the gauze bandage encircling Chris’s head and his cheeks are wet with tears. Frankly, Chris looks _awful_ , and it’s getting harder and harder for Darren to swallow down his own fears about that. He takes a deep breath and focuses on making his voice sound calm and even as he asks Chris, “Hey— hanging in there?”

Chris gives the barest shake of his head and moans, his face starting to take on a slightly unearthly greenish tinge.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart,” Darren requests.

“Feel - sick,” Chris grits out. “Dizzy. Nauseous.”

Darren frowns, noticing the beads of sweat on Chris’s forehead and upper lip for the first time. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

“I...” Chris trails off suddenly and presses his lips together in a thin, tight line, groaning under his breath.

Darren takes that as a yes. His head snaps up and he begins scanning the room for the nearest bucket or trash can. “Um hey,” he interrupts, reaching for the nearest nurse. “I think Chris might throw up?”

That seems to get everyone’s attention at once. One nurse grabs a pink plastic basin from the counter near the sink and tucks it under Chris’s chin before lifting the head of his hospital bed into a semi-seated position. The ER doctor consults with another nurse in a low, hushed voice and she quickly scurries off to retrieve a syringe of medication from a locked cabinet. Seconds later, the first nurse returns, this time with a damp towel. She unbuttons several buttons on the collar of Chris’s shirt and drapes the cool fabric over his neck and upper chest.

“Chris? Hi, my name’s Dr. Brenner. I’m going to be taking care of you tonight while you’re in the emergency room. Your friend said you were feeling nauseous?”

Chris grips Darren’s hand a little tighter and drags with eyes open with a muted groan. He swallows hard and manages a minute nod in confirmation.

“Okay, one of our nurses here, Isabelle, is going to inject some medication into your IV to help with the nausea. It might burn a little going in, but it should kick in very fast. Are you feeling dizzy as well?”

Chris nods again and then moans, eyes squeezing shut.

Dr. Brenner turns to one of the medical residents trailing her and says,“Okay yeah, let’s go ahead and take him down for a CAT scan now. The rest of the exam can wait.”

“Do you want him in a gown?” a nurse asks, holding up the hospital gown she’s got in one hand.

“Just let the radiology tech do it.”

Darren’s only half listening until he sees the nurse move Chris’s bag of IV fluids over to a pole attached to the bed and maneuver behind it in preparation to steer the gurney. Chris still has his eyes closed but they fly open at the sudden movement, exchanging a panicked look with Darren. “Wait, what’s happening?” Darren asks for both of them.

“We’re going to do a CAT scan to evaluate his head injury. You’ll have to wait here until he’s done, but it shouldn’t take very long,” the nurse tells them, patting Chris’s hand soothingly. “Can you let go of your boyfriend’s hand, sweetie?”

“I’m n—” Darren starts to protest, then decides that his clarification hardly matters in the grand scheme of things. More urgent is the way Chris digs his fingers in as hard as he can, obviously freaking out at the thought of being separated from Darren. Darren’s right there with Chris, to be completely honest. So far, their ER visit has been far from reassuring in more ways than one.

“Can’t I go down there with him? Or at least just walk with you guys to wherever you're doing the test? He’s been really miserable and out of it, and I think having a familiar face helps,” Darren tries to explain, though he practically has to jog to keep up with the gurney as they continue to move it swiftly across the floor, preparing to guide it out of the room.

“It’s a restricted area,” the medical resident replies. “It won’t take long, though. Plus, one of the nurses will probably need to get some information from you while they run tests.”

“Okay,” Darren sighs, reluctantly prying Chris’s fingers from his wrist. They pause in the doorway for a moment, giving him time to lean over Chris’s gurney. “Hey, they just need to take some pictures of your head, alright? I’m not allowed to come, but I’ll be waiting right here for you to come back. It will only take a few minutes, I swear. Just smile pretty for the camera, yeah?” Darren tries to joke weakly, but his stomach is still in knots at the thought of leaving Chris alone, however briefly. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he’s betrayed Chris somehow. Darren tries to project a calm he doesn’t feel as he leans over and kisses Chris’s cheek, tasting remnants of salt from forgotten tears. “I’ll see you soon, honey.”

Chris swallows hard, either unwilling or maybe unable to reply verbally. But even as his bed is carefully guided through the open door and out into the hallway, his eyes never leave Darren’s face.

Darren holds Chris’s gaze until the door swings shut with a final sounding thump.

* * *

“How are you feeling? Still coping?” Darren asks softly once they are finally, blessedly alone for the first time since they both arrived at the hospital. It’s felt like the longest hour and a half of Darren’s life. Between the rush of people in and out of Chris’s room, the endless questions and consultations, and Darren’s continuous struggle to calm and comfort Chris through his palpable misery, he’s exhausted, quite frankly. It seems a miracle that Chris has even managed to stay conscious with all he’s up against.

Chris has somehow pushed through a CAT Scan, several chest x-rays, a neurological consult, countless exams, and two injections, not to mention the pain, dizziness, and vomiting that go along with a head injury. It’s proof positive that Chris is without a doubt among the strongest people that Darren has ever met, not that Darren has ever doubted it for a second. Meanwhile, Darren isn’t sure if he can handle seeing Chris in pain for one more second without snapping. It’s not even happening to him directly, and it’s still more than he can bear.

“Not really,” Chris whispers. “I can’t...”

Darren waits for a long, charged moment, assuming Chris will finish the sentence eventually. Instead, Chris just breaks off into a sob.

“Sweetheart,” Darren breathes, hating how helpless he feels. “You can’t what, exactly?”

“I don’t - know how much - longer I can - do this,” Chris says between hitching breaths, the tears falling faster now.

“Stay awake, you mean?”

“No,” Chris murmurs. “I mean, yes, that’s - part of it, but... it’s just - _everything_.”

Darren nods. “I know, Chris. I get that you’re miserable, and that all the tests and exams are only making you feel worse.”

“It _hurts_ , and I’m so tired,” Chris whimpers.

Chris’s words hit Darren hard, settling in the pit of his gut and making him ache with the need to _fix it._ Being forced to sit back and watch someone he loves in pain while he’s unable to do anything to ease his suffering is its own special kind of hell. Without thinking, Darren leans forward and plants a gentle kiss to the uninjured side of Chris’s temple. It seems a strangely intimate gesture, even with all the careful but soothing comforts he’s been offering up this evening. Darren is too busy worrying over Chris’s health to panic about giving himself away at the moment, however. He assumes there will be plenty of time for self doubt later on. There almost always is lately.

“You’ve been doing so well, honey. All that’s left are the stitches and then the doctor should have the results of all your tests back. Dr. Brenner said once she’s looked at your CAT scan, she should finally be able to give you some pain medicine so you can stop hurting and get some rest,” Darren tries to soothe.

“Don’t want stitches,” Chris murmurs, his words starting to slur together due to exhaustion and misery.

Darren sighs heavily. “I know you don’t, but it’ll be over before you know it, okay?”

“Have you ever gotten stitches before?” Chris wonders, his voice small. “When you were awake and old enough to remember getting them?”

“Yeah, in my thigh when I was in college,” Darren confirms. “What about you?”

“No,” Chris admits. “I mean, technically I got them in my neck when I had that lymph node surgery as a kid, but I was still under when they sewed me up, so it doesn’t really count.”

Darren’s fingers instinctively trail down from where he’s been cupping Chris’s cheek to trace the thin, white scar on the side of Chris’s neck.

Chris shivers at the sensation. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Getting stitches, you mean?” Darren clarifies. He waits until Chris nods in confirmation, trying to figure out the best way to reply without out and out lying to Chris. “The only part I remember being all that painful was when they injected the numbing medicine into the gash on my thigh. But that stuff kicks in really fast, and then you can’t really feel anything except some tugging and pressure.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Chris sniffles.

“Sorry, I’m obviously doing a shitty job on the pep talk, but I swear it really isn’t so awful. I mean, we all know I’m a huge wimp and even I got through it okay.”

“Were you drunk, though?” Chris presses, wiping at his running nose with a handful of Kleenex.

Darren chuckles despite himself. “How’d you know?”

“You said college and I’ve heard your stories from then. It seemed like a safe bet.”

“Fair enough,” Darren says with a wry grin as he strokes Chris’s arm.

“Tell me how you hurt your leg?” Chris requests in a hoarse whisper. “I could use the distraction.”

“If you insist,” Darren says, grateful for anything that gets Chris’s mind off things temporarily even if it’s tales of his drunken idiocy. “Let’s just say it involved a bet with Joe and Brian about who could balance the most beer bottles on his head.”

“...and you lost?” Chris asks.

“In more ways than one,” Darren laughs. “Hey, at least I got out of paying up?”

“What did you bet?”

“The loser was supposed to buy a case of beer for the next party,” Darren responds. “But after Joe had to ride in the back seat of Lauren’s hatchback with me bleeding all over the upholstery and screaming my head off about how they were probably going to have to amputate my leg, I guess he decided to cut his losses.”

Chris can’t manage much more than a weak chuckle at Darren’s story, but it’s still the closest Darren’s come all night to getting Chris’s mind off of things so he’ll take it. Chris opens his mouth, obviously intending to ask something else, but then closes it again just as quickly without a sound.

“What?” Darren wonders aloud, scrutinizing Chris's expression.

Chris bites his lip, seeming to mull something over in his mind for a second before he finally asks, “Did it scar?”

“My leg? Yeah, a bit but it’s faded a lot since then,” Darren reassures him. “I’d have to take my pants off for you to really see it, but I can if that would make you feel better?” he halfheartedly offers, though he really doesn’t expect Chris to take him up on it.

He’s surprised when Chris nods shyly, then says, “If you don’t mind?” in a tremulous voice.

“Yeah? Okay, sure,” Darren breathes, reluctantly releasing his grip on Chris’s hand so he can stand and unbutton his pants. His cheeks feel warm as he unzips the fly, Chris still regarding him curiously. It shouldn’t be awkward to do this, not when they’ve shared hotel rooms, beds, and quick changes backstage. Chris has seen him much more exposed than this, but it still feels distinctly different this time. Then again, nothing about Darren’s feelings for Chris is straightforward or easy lately, so perhaps this is only following suit.

Darren exhales slowly and begins shimmying the ridiculously tight costume pants he’s still wearing down his ass and thighs, exposing his black and white checked boxer briefs. He glances up at Chris, who is watching him with interest, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Hey, could be worse— at least I didn’t go commando today?” Darren jokes, wanting to ease the weird tension in the air.

“Surely you know better than to skip the underwear when you are wearing your Blaine pants? Whatever the costume ladies get paid, it’s not enough to compensate for an accidental Darren penis sighting,” Chris teases.

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know that people would pay good money for that,” Darren pretend huffs. "It would be an added incentive."

“If you say so,” Chris murmurs, staring intently at Darren’s thighs.

Darren stops when he gets his pants down to his knees, forced to hop comically to get close enough to the bed for Chris to see. “It’s going to be so awkward if one of your nurses walks in right now,” he kids, because the situation is surreal and uncomfortable and joking is the way he typically copes his awkward situations.

“God,” Chris chokes on air, “now I almost hope they do.”

“You’re evil, Colfer.”

Chris just shrugs and narrows his eyes, looking at Darren’s legs. “I don’t see anything?”

“Inner thigh,” Darren says by way of explanation, rolling his left leg outward and tracing a spot about 6 inches above his knee and the long, white scar that remains.

Chris tries to sit up in bed so he can see better, but the second he raises his head from the pillow, he goes scarily white and whimpers, gripping at the bed rail.

“No no, don’t try to get up,” Darren warns a bit too late, sliding his arm behind Chris’s head and gently lowering him back down to the pillow. Chris keeps his eyes squeezed shut, breathing in tiny, irregular gasps. Darren keeps waiting for at least some of the color to return to Chris’s face, but to his great concern, it doesn’t.

“Chris?” Darren tries after a full minute, maybe two, have passed and Chris remains every bit as still and silent as before.

Chris doesn’t reply, instead only shaking his head minutely. Darren frowns, glancing down to see that Chris’s other hand is gripping his own leg, fingers digging in hard enough to likely leave marks. He’s not sure if it’s due to pain, nausea, or dizziness, but either way, it’s not good.

“Hey, talk to me, please?” he requests gently. When that doesn’t work, he reaches over and pries Chris’s hand from the bed railing, replacing it with his fingers and giving Chris something new to clutch. You’re starting to scare me, honey,” he admits. “Maybe I should go get your nurse?”

Chris exhales a shaky breath and forces his eyes open. “No, don’t leave. Just dizzy. The room was spinning.”

“Is it any better now?” Darren checks, because Chris is still way too pale for Darren to feel reassured.

“A little,” Chris whispers. “I should be okay as long as I don’t move my head.”

“Chris, maybe I should—” Darren begins warily.

“I’ll be fine,” Chris snaps. “Chill.”

Darren inhales sharply, focusing on the steady drip-drip-drip coming from the IV pump at the head of Chris’s bed as a distraction from his worries. He only wants to help and he’s sure his concern is well-founded, but the last thing he wants to do is alienate Chris during this vulnerable time.

Not knowing what else to do, Darren simply waits and hopes, marking time by Chris’s stuttering breaths and periodic hand squeezes. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, snickering despite himself when he looks down and remembers his pants are still pooled at his knees.

“What?” Chris wonders aloud.

“I forgot my pants are still half off. It’s a miracle that some nurse or doctor hasn’t barged in and seen me in my underwear already. I should probably fix that, huh?” Darren stands, reluctantly releasing his grip on Chris’s hand as he prepares to pull his pants back up.

“Wait, I still want to see your scar,” Chris counters. Darren furrows his brow, ready to protest, but before he can, Chris adds, “I won’t try to get up again, just show me?”

“Fair enough,” Darren agrees. He releases the bed rail on one side and shuffles closer to point out the diagonal scar.

“Yikes,” Chris winces, tracing it with his index finger. “You’re lucky that wasn’t your face that got all sliced up.”

“What, you don’t think I could rock a bitching eye patch?”

Chris smiles weakly. “…Maybe? If anyone could, it would be you.”

Darren grins back. “Thanks, I think.” He grips the waistband of his pants in both hands. “Okay, have you seen enough here?”

“Yup.”

Darren nods and quickly tugs his pants back on, buttoning them up and zipping the fly. He’s distracted by the task at hand, so he misses Chris’s pensive expression until he asks, “Do you think my head is going to scar?”

Darren glances back at Chris, seeing the genuine fear and anxiety written all over his face. He leans in, gently brushing Chris's bangs out of the way so he can visualize the entire gash. Now that the bleeding has nearly slowed to a halt, Darren can see just how deep the wound is, though thankfully half of it is hidden by Chris’s hair.

“I doubt you’ll really be able to see the scar,” he soothes. “Your bangs mostly cover it. But you’re an actor and it’s your face we’re talking about, so I wouldn’t necessarily take my judgment as final. You could totally request that a plastic surgeon do the stitches if you’re worried about it, just to be safe?”

Chris sighs heavily. “No, I just want to get it over with. I’m miserable enough as it is, and I really don’t want to prolong the agony, you know?”

Darren nods, stroking Chris’s cheek for a moment. “Yes, I get that. You’ve been way stronger than any human being should reasonably be expected to be. Thankfully, it will all be over soon, and I’ll be right here with you while Dr. Brenner stitches you up, for whatever good that’s worth?” He shrugs helplessly.

“I couldn’t do any of this without you,” Chris whispers, blinking heavily as he tries in vain to keep his eyes open. “I would have passed out ages ago.”

“Really?” Darren responds automatically. He’s not fishing for a compliment, he’s just legitimately surprised by Chris’s offhand comment, just like he’s been puzzled but grateful each and every time Chris has requested his presence since the accident took place.

“Really,” Chris echoes. “You’ll hold my hand while they put in the stitches?”

Darren nods and squeezes Chris’s hand again. “I’ve got you covered.”

* * *

It takes nearly thirty minutes for Dr. Brenner to come back with the results of the myriad tests they’ve run on Chris. By that point, Darren has all but given up on trying to keep Chris talking to him, accepting a series of muted grunts, mewls of pain, and hand squeezes as confirmation enough that Chris is still semi-conscious.

“How are we doing in here?” she asks as she peers down at Chris expectantly.

He can’t muster more than a weak shrug and a tiny whimper, though Darren happens to think that’s a pretty accurate depiction of how they’re both feeling at the moment. Still, since he feels like it bears repeating, Darren adds, “He’s still in a lot of pain” with a slightly pointed glare. The nurse gave them some long half apology and explanation earlier, something about pain medicine potentially interfering with an accurate neurological workup blah blah— But to Darren, it hardly seems like a decent excuse for what is seeming more and more like torture.

The doctor nods, seeming to expect as much. “Well, we’ve got good news and bad news on that front: which do you want first?”

Darren’s stomach sinks like a rock, terrified to play what sounds like the world’s worst guessing game. Chris can’t manage to come up with any response either, so after a protracted pause and a tense, awkward silence, the doctor flips open the manila folder in her hands and says bluntly, “Okay, so the good news is that the CAT scan ruled out a skull fracture or bleeding on the brain.”

Darren bites his lip. While that’s undoubtedly good news, the fact that Chris is injured badly enough that either of those things are legitimate concerns that needed ruling out is a terrifying prospect and not nearly as reassuring as the doctor believes them to be. Darren clears his throat, swallows hard, and then braces himself to ask, “And what’s the bad news?”

“He’s got a severe concussion,” Dr. Brenner says just as matter-of-factly. “Chris, you should recover with time and lots of rest, but we definitely want to you under observation tonight at a minimum. Then once we’re ready to release you, we’ll refer you to one of our neurology fellows for outpatient follow-up.”

Darren is trying, but he’s really not seeing much upside at this very moment. The concussion part he’d braced himself for; it's the adjective is giving him pause. “When you say ' _severe_ concussion' what exactly does that mean?”

“Well, the severity of a head injury is mostly based on symptoms, so the fact that he lost consciousness for about five minutes, combined with how confused and drowsy he is now, not to mention the bad headache and repeated vomiting all point to a severe concussion. His symptoms are concerning, and while I think he’ll recover well with proper rest, we want to monitor him closely to make sure there’s no swelling to the brain or a small bleed the CAT scan didn’t pick up initially.”

“That can happen?” Darren presses, struggling to keep his worry in check.

“Very rarely. Like I said, it’s mostly a precaution, but Chris staying here will also allow us to give him medications to make him more comfortable. Once we finish stitching up his head, I’ll have the nurse give him some pain medication in his IV and a stronger anti-nausea medication if he needs it.”

“That would be great,” Darren manages, trying to focus on the making Chris comfortable part and not the possibility for… _stealth brain bleeding???_ He shudders at the mere thought. “How long do you think he’ll need to stay?”

“Definitely overnight at least. If things seem to be improving, we may be able to get him out of here by midday tomorrow, but don’t quote me on that. I’d plan on him being released in the late afternoon or early evening tomorrow in all likelihood, and then he will have follow-up outpatient appointments to attend early next week.”

Chris turns his head towards Darren, tugging at their intertwined hands. “Wanna go home,” he whines.

“Tomorrow, honey. That’s the plan,” Darren soothes automatically. It’s the first real indication he’s had that Chris has heard a word Dr. Brenner has been saying.

“M’chest hurts,” Chris groans.

Darren sighs heavily, turning back to Chris’s doctor; in his worry over the severe concussion, he'd nearly forgotten about Chris's other injury. “Speaking of which, is his chest okay? Is it just bruised or…?”

The doctor shakes her head. “Actually no, he’s got a hairline rib fracture.”

“Jesus,” Darren breathes, working back up to a full blown panic once again. “What do we do about that?”

“All things considered, the rib fracture is fairly mild and nondisplaced, so it should heal without further treatment. It’s going to be very sore, mostly. The respiratory therapists will probably stop by in the morning to give him some deep breathing exercises to lower the risk of him developing pneumonia, but yeah, unfortunately there’s not a whole lot that can be done for it besides rest and pain medication.”

Darren is perilously close to asking the doctor if there’s actually anything concrete they _can_ do for Chris, because he’s growing pretty fucking discouraged by the state of modern medicine. Still, he knows it’s not Dr. Brenner's fault that Chris is hurt and that can’t be fixed instantly. He’s mainly just frustrated with the situation and since there’s no one else handy to blame, Dr. Brenner makes an easy target.

Unfortunately, that awareness does little to nothing to tamp down the irrational anger and incapacitating fear he feels each time he thinks about Chris’s injuries: severe concussion, large head wound, and a broken rib. It’s a sobering list.

Darren's heart is still in his throat as Dr. Brenner asks, “Any questions about his diagnoses or the treatment plan?” The only response he can manage is shaking his head weakly.

Dr. Brenner closes the manila folder she's holding. “In that case, I’m going to grab Chris’s nurse and a medical resident and then we’ll see about getting his head stitched up, okay?”

“Sure,” Darren says hoarsely, his eyes following the doctor as she swiftly exits the room.

Chris startles at the sound of the door swinging shut and then moans in discomfort. “Dar?”

Darren swallows hard against the growing lump, wanting desperately to put a positive spin on the news for Chris if it all possible. “Yeah, I’m still here, Chris.”

Chris winces and blindly reaches for Darren, his eyes still tightly shut against the pain. Darren slides his hand into Chris’s without hesitation and strokes Chris’s hair with the other. “We can go home now?” Chris slurs.

“Not tonight, baby,” Darren sighs. “You’ve got to stay here.”

Chris groans, shaking his head. “No, I don’t need— Just take me home, I’ll sleep there.”

“The doctor says they need to watch you overnight, Chris, so that’s what we’re going to do,” Darren insists.

“You can watch me?” Chris weakly protests. “At my house?”

“Hey, look at me,” Darren requests. He has very little control over his emotions right now and he knows it, but he wants - _needs_ \- Chris to understand why they are going to do every last damn thing the doctor suggests until Chris is 100% recovered. Any less than that would be failing Chris, as far as Darren is concerned.

It takes Chris far too long to pry his eyes open, and Darren can see the herculean effort even that requires. It’s just one more reason why Darren is taking Chris’s injuries every bit as seriously as the medical professionals.

“Listen Chris, the doctor just went over the test results with me, and you’ve got a severe concussion and a fractured rib,” Darren lays out, hating the way his voice shakes on the last few words. He can feel his eyes starting to well with hot, frustrated tears, but he charges ahead, hoping somehow Chris won’t notice. “She said they wanted to keep you under observation overnight, and we’re going to listen to them, got it? You’re hurt and it’s serious, and we’re not fucking around when it comes to your health. Period.”

Chris studies Darren’s face for a long moment, his gaze softening as Darren angrily wipes away the tear he can’t stop from falling. “Just one night?” Chris finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Hopefully you’ll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon,” Darren says.

“Okay,” Chris acquiesces. “Gonna sleep then. You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

* * *

 Darren’s phone vibrates from its current perch on the tray table beside Chris’s bed. It’s been going off almost nonstop since they arrived at the hospital as news of the accident on set and Chris’s injury spread like wildfire. This is the first time that Chris has awake and conscious enough to notice, though; he startles slightly at the sound and then groans and clutches at his tender side.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes on autopilot, smoothing his thumb back and forth across Chris’s knuckles. “I’m sorry if the noise scared you - it’s just my phone.”

Darren picks it up and scrolls through the text messages and missed call log, seeing many familiar names of their fellow Glee cast mates, all seeking updates on Chris’s condition or offering support. “Looks like it's Lea checking on you this time, but I think I’ve heard from just about everyone in the cast and even a handful of crew members tonight. Everyone’s really worried about you.”

Chris frowns. “How do they even know that we’re here or that you’re with me?”

Darren sighs, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “It went up on TMZ about an hour ago. I guess the paps that stake out the sidewalk across from the Paramount lot main entrance saw the ambulance leaving and got someone to confirm that it was you in it. Such a dick move, but that’s the paparazzi for you, huh?”

Chris's frowns deepens to a scowl. He lifts his free hand, scrubbing it over his face, obviously equal parts frustrated and concerned by this new development. “Pictures?” he asks in a shaky voice, fighting back tears.

“Of you, you mean? No, I don’t think they got any or there weren’t any posted with the article, at least. I assume if they managed to snap some, they would have leaked them immediately.”

Chris’s face crumples, eyes closing involuntarily as tears stream down his cheeks.

“Honey, Darren breathes, “stupid tabloids should be the last thing on your mind right now. I know it’s frustrating but I say fuck them. Let’s just worry about getting you better for the time being, alright?”

“Do they know you’re with me?” Chris asks hoarsely.

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet anyways. Lea and Dianna just texted me to ask what happened earlier because they knew you and I were filming late together. And I guess bad news travels fast?” Darren shrugs weakly.

Chris turns his head, looking away from Darren and swiping at his running nose with the back of his hand. “You should go then,” he says in a flat voice. “Get out before the paps get here so you don't get photographed.”

“What? No, I’m not leaving you. Honestly, I could give two shits if they try to snap my picture,” Darren shoots back immediately. Wanting to reassure Chris that he’s not going anywhere, he reaches out and squeezes Chris’s shoulder.

It must not be working very well, because Chris shifts restlessly on the bed, shaking off Darren’s touch. He still won’t look at Darren, either. Darren assumes he must be embarrassed about crying, though that’s a bit puzzling given that Darren’s already seen him cry enough for a lifetime this evening.

He's curious about what's bothering Chris so much, but he decides to ignore that for now in favor of bigger issues they need to address more urgently. “Did you ever wind up calling or texting your parents about you being in the hospital?”

“No, and I’m not going to. There’s no need to worry them when I’ll be out of here in the morning. They’ve got enough on their plate already with Hannah,” Chris insists, his voice shaky but filled with conviction.

He sighs. “Chris, it’s online now, though. Your mom or dad is bound to run across the news on social media, and if they haven’t heard a single word from you, don’t you think they’re going to flip out and assume the worst?” Darren gently points out.

“I don’t need you managing my family relationships for me, Darren. I’m not calling them. End of discussion,” Chris states, the growing frustration evident in his tone.

Darren feels the sting of Chris’s words, but deep down, he knows he’s right about this. He’s almost certain that Chris will wind up fielding a panicked phone call from his mother before long, but he doesn't want Chris to be angry with him so he decides that they can cross that bridge when they come to it.

“Okay, Chris. Whatever you think is best,” he demurs. “Maybe in the meantime, you’ll finally be able to get a little rest?”

“Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath on that.” Chris murmurs. “It is getting late though. You should probably head out soon so you can get some rest of your own.”

Darren shakes his head, wondering again why Chris is suddenly so eager to get rid of him. “Like I already told you, that's not happening, hon. I’m staying with you until you get released.”

“Seriously, I’ll be fine,” Chris insists sharply. “I don’t need you need here babysitting me.”

“I’m _not_ babysitting you,” Darren says defensively. “I’m here for moral support and anything else you might need. Plus, I know how stubborn you can be when it comes to your health and I want to make sure you actually take care of yourself this time.”

“I already told you what I need. I need you to leave now so that you don’t wind up getting stalked by the paparazzi. If they get pictures of you leaving the hospital on the same day I was admitted to it, they’ll know why you’re here and this story is going to blow up and turn into a three ring media circus.”

Darren sighs, because what Chris is predicting might be pretty close to reality. Still though, it’s not a good enough reason for him to be willing to leave Chris’s side.

“Look, your neurologist already recommended that I stay, because patients with severe concussions often have temporary memory loss and become easily confused and disoriented. But beyond that, you’re important to me. You know I only want what’s best for you, right?” To punctuate the statement, Darren finds Chris’s hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing across his knuckles.

“If you really wanted what’s best for me, you’d actually leave me alone like I asked,” Chris finally snaps. His voice is low but the words still cut deep.

Darren drops Chris’s hand like he’s been burned. He feels as if he’s been slapped in the face all over again with Chris’s out of nowhere rejection. He has the same sick, sinking sensation in his stomach as he’d felt walking onto set their first day back after the tour, eager to see his best friend only to find that overnight he’d turned into a stranger. And just like back then, Darren still doesn’t understand _why._

 Chris has always been unknowable to him on some level. Darren didn’t used to take that personally, because he knew Chris put up walls with everyone. Darren felt special, even, because he managed to get through more of those walls than most had. There was a mystery and a challenge to it, and Darren’s always been a sucker for a challenge. He’s not a sucker for rejection, though, not when he only wants to help and he's made to feel like a worthless idiot or clingy stalker for his troubles.

Darren is utterly speechless for a moment, desperately trying to collect his jumbled thoughts. He’s practically on the verge of tears and he knows he needs to escape so he doesn’t add humiliation to the list of slights. The simple reality is that feelings for Chris run deep, well past like and into another l-word that he can barely admit to himself, let alone to Chris. He doesn’t want to punish Chris for pushing him away, however. Chris doesn’t know the whole truth about how Darren truly feels and extra pressure or stress is the last thing he needs at the moment. Still, the thought of doing what Chris is requesting and just leaving him all on his own in the hospital makes Darren feel really, really uneasy.

Darren can practically taste the crackling tension in the air as he scrubs a shaking hand across his face. Chris is lying half on his side, facing away from Darren now, his face unreadable and bathed in shadows. He takes a deep, steadying breath and tells Chris, “I’m going to find the nurse and tell her you’re ready for your pain medicine and then I'll give you some space, okay?”

Darren’s proclamation hangs in the air for a long, charged moment. Darren can scarcely breathe as he waits for some acknowledgement, terrified that Chris will tell him not to bother coming back or find some other way to twist the knife even deeper. As he waits, he looks Chris over one last time. If Darren’s not mistaken, he’s pretty sure he can see Chris’s shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Finally, Chris clears his throat before murmuring in a tremulous voice, “Darren, you don’t have to—”

Darren can feel the hot, frustrated tears already starting to bubble up in his throat, so he decides he can't wait for Chris to finish the sentence. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he interrupts, his words a statement rather than a question seeking validation this time.

“I...” Chris starts, breaking off into a hiccuping sob. Another sniffle, some rustling of sheets, and then Chris manages to say one more word: “Okay.”

“Okay,” Darren echoes. He stands on wobbly legs and heads for the exit. As he opens the door and crosses the threshold, he desperately wants to glance back at Chris once more, but his pride won’t let him. The door swings shut with a final sounding thump and then all Darren is left with are his thoughts.

* * *

Five minutes later, Darren’s summoned Chris’s nurse, found a public restroom at the far end of the floor, and locked himself into a private stall.

He drops his head to his hands and succumbs to the raging emotions churning through him. Darren wants so desperately to understand where Chris is coming from, to pinpoint where he keeps going wrong again and again, but he still doesn’t get it. Lately, it’s seemed like an endless loop of two steps forward, one step back with them, leaving Darren attempting to dodge buried landmines only Chris can see.

What set Chris off this time had seemed so innocent to Darren. All he was doing was trying to anticipate Chris’s needs, to provide support by offering to contact Chris’s family. Why was that such a bad thing? Why did Chris go so cold? Why did Chris keep trying to talk Darren into leaving him when he's the one that asked Darren to stay initially? Is his presence so unwanted and annoying that Chris would willingly choose to be all alone over having Darren around to comfort him?

Darren knows he must have made a fatal error somewhere, but even playing it back and trying to examine things from Chris’s perspective now, he just can't locate it. There must be something, though, because Chris is almost always the more rational one in their friendship. Even when his logic initially seems foreign to Darren, Chris always has a reason for doing what he does. However, Darren’s starting to wonder if he’ll _ever_ get an explanation for tonight, especially since he never got one about Chris’s overnight personality transplant last summer.

Darren lets all of the fear, worry, and heartache he’s been saving up pour out of him now, lets the hot, frustrated tears stream down his cheeks and drip from his face to dampen his shirt. It’s cathartic and necessary, finally acknowledging that he’s utterly helpless to get through to Chris unless Chris _wants_ to let him in. This is one of those times where he needs to learn to accept the things he cannot change and figure out just how much rejection he’s willing to take.

* * *

A short while later, Darren is all cried out and ready for action. The first step in his plan is regaining his composure and making himself presentable once more. He turns on the sink tap and splashes cool water on his face several times, persisting until his face is no longer a red, blotchy, tear stained mess. There’s not a whole lot he can do about the puffiness around his eyes, so he’ll just have to hope that the low lighting in Chris’s hospital room can hide it for him.

He dries his face with a paper towel from the dispenser near the sink before giving himself a final once over in the mirror. Darren reins in a wayward curl and makes a vain attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in his rumpled shirt. Then, he draws a deep, calming breath and makes a beeline for Chris’s room.

With every step he takes towards Chris’s private room, Darren feels his apprehension grow. He knows what he needs to say to Chris, but he’s terrified of how it will be received. It’s scary to realize that he has no idea what’s going on in Chris’s head at the moment, even though he _desperately_ wants to.

He hesitates for a moment at the closed door, summoning every last bit of courage he can find before gently pulling it open.

The lights are off in the room, with only the slivers of pale moonlight from the window to illuminate Darren’s path to Chris’s bedside. Darren’s not entirely sure if Chris is awake or asleep since he’s completely still with his back to Darren. When Chris makes no move to turn or sit up at the sound of Darren entering the room, he simply shuts the door behind him and pads towards the bed quietly.

The room is silent save for the soft dripping sounds coming from the IV and the muted hiss of the oxygen being released through the nasal prongs Chris is wearing. Darren scarcely breathes as he lowers himself into the chair at Chris’s bedside. His hand hovers in the air for a long moment, suddenly unsure about the boundaries between them. Darren doesn’t want to invade Chris’s personal space or force unwanted physical contact, and he certainly doesn’t want to accidentally wake Chris up if he’s finally managed to fall asleep and get some much needed rest. The speech that he’d painstakingly crafted in the bathroom seems to stick in Darren’s throat now that he’s actually in front of Chris.

So, there he sits, paralyzed with indecision yet again until he hears Chris sniffle and sees him shift on the bed ever so slightly. Clearly, now is the time to make the first move; Darren decides to keep it simple. “Chris?” he calls out softly.

There’s another louder sniffle and what’s either a cut off hiccup or sob. “Yeah?” Chris manages, his voice wrecked. He still won’t look at Darren.

Darren feels his stomach flip nervously, his concern mounting. He knows he should probably just plunge ahead with his prepared speech, but it’s hard to focus on that through his guilt and worry over Chris’s physical state. Just going off what little he’s observed since he walked into the room, he’d put money on Chris having cried just as much as Darren over the last twenty minutes, if not more.

“Is everything okay? Can we talk?”

“I...” Chris trails off with a choked off whimper. There’s no doubt in Darren’s mind that Chris is crying now and crying hard, though he still can’t see Chris’s face. “I’m - sorry.”

Darren can’t restrain himself any longer, not when there’s tangible proof right in front of him that Chris is so upset. He doesn’t want to overstep too much, so he settles for placing a hand on Chris’s back, right between his shoulder blades, and rubbing in soothing circles. “Hey, no - why? You have nothing to be sorry for,” he promises. “I’m not mad.”

Chris inhales sharply which unfortunately devolves into a coughing fit rather quickly. Chris moans and clutches his side through it, while Darren continues to rub Chris’s back. With his free hand, he reaches for a fistful of tissues from the box of Kleenex on the tray table. He waits until Chris stops coughing and then requests, “Can you look at me?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Chris rolls back towards Darren, exposing tear-swollen eyes and a blotchy red face. Darren swallows hard, his heart sinking. He feels guilty all over again, though he’s not sure exactly how he’s at fault just yet. “Chris...” he sighs helplessly.

“I didn’t _mean—_  I’m sorry I—” Chris babbles, crying so hard he can barely get the words out.

Darren passes the handful of tissues to Chris so he can blow his running nose and catch his breath.

“Look, I don’t want you to be upset, but there’s some stuff I need to say, okay?” Darren finally introduces. He knows he needs to get it out of the way now before he loses his nerve. He doesn’t want to introduce more opportunity for hurt feelings and misunderstandings if he can help it.

Chris looks wary, but he doesn’t protest. He gulps audibly, then nods his assent. “Okay.”

“First of all, I’m sorry that you’re feeling so miserable right now. I know your head must be killing you and getting knocked unconscious and rushed to the ER in an ambulance has been a really scary and disorienting experience for you so far. You’ve been really brave and strong about the whole thing, because well, you’re you. But honey, just because you _can_ cope with it all on your own doesn’t mean you should _have_ to, you know? I don’t think being seriously injured and in the hospital is an experience that anyone should go through alone, and the doctors that are treating you even reiterated that to me as well. I want to help, because you’re my best friend and I care about you a lot.”

“You’re mine, too,” Chris confesses, his voice barely a whisper. The small reassurance means more to Darren than he lets on, but he needs to plunge ahead with the rest before he loses his nerve.

“I want you to know that I’m not lying when I say that I’m here because I want to be. You aren’t an obligation. Being here and supporting you is in no way a burden for me. I’m here because I care about you and your health,” Darren explains, looking directly into Chris’s eyes to emphasize the sincerity behind every word. He hopes he’s starting to get through to him.

“The truth is I’ve been worried sick about you and all I want is for you to feel better and be okay again. But...” Darren trails off, feeling the panic start to bubble up about what he needs to say next. It’s important and necessary, but he’s still just as scared of the rejection now as he was three months ago at the close of the Glee Live tour when he was prepared to talk to Chris about his growing romantic feelings. He’d chickened out then, but he’s determined not to make that same mistake again, especially not now when it feels like even their friendship hangs in the balance.

Darren doesn’t realize just how long he’s paused to gather his thoughts until he looks at Chris’s face, clocking the guarded, fearful look in his eyes. “But?” Chris prompts, his voice hoarse and wobbly.

“But I need to be sure I’m not being selfish,” Darren admits. “I want to be here, but not if that’s going to interfere with what you want or need.”

“Darren, I don’t—” Chris starts to interrupt.

“Hang on,” Darren continues. “Just let me finish, alright? It’s important. Once I’m done, _then_ you can tell me how wrong I am,” he manages, trying to make a weak joke borne out of his discomfort. “I don’t think you should be on your own right now, and the neurologist taking care of you said pretty much the same thing. But I don’t have to be the one here with you if you’d rather have someone else. You don’t have to worry about needing to explain or justify your decision to me. Just let me know who to call to come be with you and once they make it here, I’ll leave. No hard feelings; I want you to be comfortable. That’s what is most important right now. So...” he introduces, screwing up his courage. “Do you want me to call someone else to come stay with you?”

Chris is shaking his head before Darren even finishes the question. “No, I don’t.”

Darren lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You’re sure? You want me to stay?”

“Please?” Chris requests, his eyes wide and pleading.

Darren feels dizzy with relief. “In that case, you’ve got it.”

Chris draws a shuddering breath as his eyes fill with tears again. “I’m really sorry,” he murmurs.

“Chris, no - don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was never upset with _you_ , just confused about this whole situation,” Darren promises.

“You’ve been - so nice,” Chris chokes out. “You didn’t deserve - I shouldn’t have - it was rude of me, but I just...” Each time he trails off, seeming unable or unwilling to finish the thoughts.

Darren doesn’t know how to respond, especially when he’s not even sure if he understands what Chris is trying to say. So instead, he wordlessly grabs another wad of Kleenex and leans forward to tenderly wipe at the tears on Chris’s cheeks. “Shh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about me right now.”

“It’s just that - I feel so - awful,” Chris chokes out between periodic sniffles and hitching breaths.

“I know you do, honey,” Darren sighs. “It’s going to get better soon, though.”

“Promise?”

Darren discards the now damp tissues in the nearby trash can before reaching out to stroke Chris’s cheek. “I swear.”

“God I hope you’re right,” Chris croaks.

Darren smiles encouragingly. “First time for everything, yeah?”

He’s hoping the gentle teasing might shock a laugh or at least a smile out of Chris, but to his dismay, Chris’s eyes well with tears all over again instead.

“Hey c’mon, don’t cry,” Darren tries to soothe. “Did the medicine not help? Is your head still hurting a lot?”

“No, it’s not that,” Chris breathes. Darren’s skepticism must be obvious, because Chris almost immediately clarifies, “Okay fine, it’s not _just_ that. The medicine helped some, but I’m still a mess. I don’t know what my problem is, honestly.”

“You’re in the hospital with a bad concussion and a broken rib. That’s plenty of reason to be upset all on its own. Plus, your neurologist mentioned something about personality changes or mood swings being common after a head injury,” Darren says.

Chris sniffles, looking sheepish. “Really? That would explain a lot.”

Darren gives Chris’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

Chris is quiet for a moment, seeming to carefully mull something over in his head before he responds. “Can I have a hug?” he asks tentatively.

“Of course you can,” Darren answers instantly, wanting nothing more.

He stands, locating the remote attached to the railing and using it to raise the head of Chris’s hospital bed. Once Chris is sitting nearly upright, he lowers the bed rail on one side and carefully perches in the small amount of space next to Chris.

Chris doesn’t reach out first; instead, he just stares at Darren shyly, his face unreadable. So Darren extends his arms in invitation, closing the gap to gently tuck Chris into his embrace.

Chris hides his face in Darren’s neck. From the fast, shaky gusts of warm air Darren can feel against his skin as Chris breathes, it seems as if Chris may be crying or hyperventilating. He’s still lost about what led Chris to reject him earlier, and even more confused about the sudden shift and desperation in Chris’s hug. He knows there’s got to be a story there, one that goes well beyond Chris’s injury and palpable misery, but he’s not going to press for more explanation right now, not when Chris is already struggling and dealing with more than any person should ever be expected to cope with.

Time seems suspended as Darren rubs Chris’s back while he clings for dear life. After a couple of minutes, Chris sags into Darren, his head sliding down from Darren’s shoulder to his chest. He never realized just how much he’s come to miss having Chris in his arms until today at this very moment. Usually, he’d be content to hold Chris for as long as he wanted: minutes, hours, days, Darren would be down for all of it. But right now, he keeps worrying that sitting up for so long might not be a good idea given Chris’s concussion and cracked rib. After all, hadn’t the nurse told Chris to stay in bed and rest as much as possible?

Darren looks down at Chris’s body, noticing for the first time that he’s shaking. He assumes Chris is just shivering with the chill that permeates the hospital air until he feels dampness against the front of his shirt where Chris is now burying his face. He looks down in concern at that, realizing for that Chris’s upper body is actually racking with silent sobs.

“Chris...” he whispers, dumbfounded and more than a little puzzled by his best friend’s rapid shift in mood. He starts to pull back so he can see Chris’s face, but Chris winds an arm around his neck and just clings tighter, his grip fierce.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? We should probably get you back in bed, regardless.”

“I - I just,” Chris hiccups out. There’s another protracted pause and several hitching breaths before Chris tries again. “I need you - to hold me - a little longer?” Before Darren can reply, he adds one final plea, the desperation obvious. “Please?”

There are so many swirling thoughts in his head that Darren scarcely knows where to begin. He’s more than a little worried that something is seriously wrong and Chris’s injuries are more serious than he’s letting on, but he also knows he could never deny Chris, especially not when he’s practically begging. “Yeah, of course I can,” he reassures, tipping his face down long enough to press a kiss to the top of Chris’s head.

“Thank - you,” Chris all but sobs. “Five more - minutes?”

“You’ve got it. Five more minutes,” he echoes.

Darren ends up holding Chris for closer to fifteen minutes, until he falls asleep in Darren’s arms, the tears drying on his cheeks. He carefully lowers Chris back down to the waiting pillow, covers him with the spare hospital blanket, and plants a reverent kiss to his temple. Then all Darren’s left with are his racing thoughts.

* * *

“Hey,” Chris rasps suddenly in the darkness, startling Darren. He’s not sure if he was actually awoken from real sleep or just dozing in and out of a light trance given how quickly he’s sitting up and reaching for Chris.

“Hey yourself,” Darren whispers. He can’t quite see Chris’s face in the darkness of the hospital room, but he can still hear the palpable misery in his tone. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not for long enough to any good, apparently,” Chris sighs. “Have I mentioned how much I don’t like hospitals?”

Darren snorts. “Maybe once or twice.”

Chris is quiet for a moment, and without the visual, Darren can only guess at the reason why. He’s planning on taking his cues and lead from Chris, at least until he makes out the distinct sound of sniffling. “Chris,” he murmurs, reaching out clumsily to stroke his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh...” Chris trails off, draws a shaky breath. “Everything?”

“Well, that doesn’t narrow things down much,” Darren says. “Are you hurting?”

“Yeah.”

“Head? Chest? All of the above?”

Chris shifts on the bed. From the little bit of movement he can see, he assumes Chris is wiping his nose. “Definitely all of the above. Now with the added bonus that I really need to pee, but you know, I’d rather set my feet on fire than try to move at the moment.”

“Please don’t,” Darren requests, half serious. “I’d really prefer not to add burns to your list of injuries, plus with all the gel and hairspray I still have in my hair from set, my whole head is liable to go up in flames along with you.”

Chris manages a weak laugh and grits out, “Spoilsport.”

“I know, right? I wish I could be laid-back enough to endorse hospital arson, but sadly I’m not. Lame,” Darren jokes.

“Honey, if you were any more laid-back, I’m not even sure you’d be able to walk upright," Chris teases.

“Not lately,” Darren says truthfully, before he can overthink it or take it back.

Chris is quiet for a moment. “By lately, do you mean today or...?”

“No, I mean more broadly, like say, the last few months...” He wonders if Chris will put two and two together with the timeline, but honestly? He’s just telling it like it is.

“Huh, I guess I hadn’t noticed,” Chris manages noncommittally.

Chris's reply is frustrating in its vagueness but Darren tries to keep his cool. “I think you’ll find there’s a lot you haven’t noticed when it comes to me lately, especially since I barely see you anymore.”

Darren hears the rustling of sheets as Chris turns his body to face him. “How is that even possible? We work together on set nearly every single day.”

“Yeah, and you avoid the fuck out of me as much as possible,” Darren shoots right back, his impatience with their whole situation starting to boil over. “It wasn’t always that way, though. That's definitely a newer development.”

Chris sighs heavily. “I’ve just been really busy lately, Darren, what with all the writing and editing and producing I'm working on."

“Bullshit,” Darren snaps. “Look, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know I’m not owed any explanation by you. I’m sure you have your reasons for shutting me out, but we’re supposed to be good friends, yeah? The least you can do is not lie directly to my face.”

Chris inhales sharply. “Darren, it’s not...” he trails off, breathing hard while he struggles to regain his composure. “It’s complicated, okay? Personal, too. But please believe me when I say that it’s not your fault and it never has been. This one is all me.”

“Okay,” Darren murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.” He still doesn't understand, but he's trying to take what Chris is saying at face value.

“...and I’m sorry _if_ -” Chris stops there, unwilling or unable to finish the apology.

Darren tries to wait Chris out, ready to press him to explain what he means, but just when he’s getting ready to prompt Chris to continue, Chris shifts on the bed, whimpering at the movement.

At the reminder of where they are and everything Chris has been put through in the past twelve hours, Darren feels a wave of sudden guilt crash over him. Pushing Chris to talk about an emotionally fraught situation when he’s still in the hospital and struggling to recover from a serious accident is probably an epic asshole move. Instead of pushing Chris for more answers, Darren leans in and drapes his arms over the railing to Chris’s hospital bed, carefully stroking his hair. “Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes. “Just breathe, it’ll pass eventually.”

“What if doesn’t?” Chris asks, his voice small.

“It will, Chris.”

Chris sniffles. “It hasn’t yet. It’s only gotten worse.”

Darren finds his hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “It’s not going to be forever, though.”

Chris squeezes back gratefully. “Promise?”

Darren doesn’t know if it’s a promise he’s qualified to make, but he doesn’t really care. “I swear. Like the doctor said, you’ll hopefully be out of here tomorrow and able to sleep in your own bed. I’m sure that will make all the difference in the world.”

“How is it supposed to help when I can’t even get myself to the bathroom that’s all of ten feet away right now?” Chris groans.

“Well, I can help with  _that_ ,” Darren points out. He can’t do much, but he’s pretty sure this is one task that even he is capable of tackling.

“You don’t have to—” Chris immediately starts to protest.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” Darren reassures him.

Chris lets out a strangled laugh. “Um dude, TMI.”

“Oh my god, not like _that_ ,” Darren groans. “Also, have we already reached the weird kink shaming portion of the evening?”

“What happens in the hospital at 3 am, stays in the hospital... or something?”

“It’s a nice idea anyways, even though the hospital has nothing on Vegas,” Darren points out.

“No kidding, this place has the world’s worst concierge,” Chris mumbles.

“I think that was a nurse, not a concierge,” Darren chuckles as he lowers the side rail on Chris’s bed and sits beside him, preparing to help Chris up.

“Yeah, a really mean one,” Chris grumbles.

Darren helps Chris sit up fully, winding an arm around his shoulder for extra support when he starts to sway. “Agreed, she was kind of a bitch. Also, I’d like to point out that you seem to be up to making jokes, so maybe you’re starting to get better after all?”

Chris makes a soft noise, one that Darren isn’t sure he could classify as affirmative. “Dizzy,” he whispers instead, pressing his face into Darren’s shoulder.

“Just take it easy,” Darren encourages, rubbing Chris’s back in slow, soothing circles. “We can wait on moving until the world is right side up again. We’re in no rush.”

“Speak for your own bladder,” Chris retorts in an amused tone.

“I mean if we’re talking about a true emergency situation, I probably _could_ carry you to the bathroom?” Darren offers.

Chris lifts his head from Darren’s shoulder and cracks one eye open. “No, that wouldn’t help my problem.”

“And what problem is that?”

Chris sighs. “The how-to-tell-which-one-is-the-floor-and-which-one-is-the-ceiling dilemma. The room is spinning like crazy.”

Darren frowns, feeling suddenly unsure. “Maybe I should get a nurse to check you over and help you get out of bed safely? Preferably a nice one?”

Chris forces himself to sit fully upright and shakes his head. “No nurse. Just want you.”

It’s the nicest thing Chris has said to him in months, and Darren’s almost embarrassed by how much it affects him. “Then have me you shall,” he whispers, pressing an absent kiss to Chris’s hair.

“Thanks, Yoda.”

“Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> The only downside to posting a fic this long all at once (instead of a chapter a day or twice a week) is missing out on the opportunity to see readers react to the major plot developments as they read your work. If you wanted to take a moment to stop and leave a comment or two along the way to let me what you think of the story, that would be absolutely wonderful and greatly appreciated!


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